


Kissing Ingrid

by amythis



Category: Who's the Boss?
Genre: F/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 71,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythis/pseuds/amythis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than twenty years after their first kiss, Anthony has the chance to kiss Ingrid again, but will they be able to stop? And how will this affect Tony & Angela?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maybe Not a Good Monk

"Goodnight, Angela." Jesus, my voice breaks when I say that. How am I going to get through tonight? Lying next to her in this little bed, in this weird motel, after all that we've talked about, sharing one set of pajamas?

"Goodnight, Anthony," she teases. I didn't get to know the mischievous side of her till fairly recently. When we first met, she had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor but she didn't show me her playful side. Really, it wasn't till that night we were both drunk in the kitchen, trying to bake a birthday cake, that I thought Angela likes to play. I don't mean in a Tanya sense. There's something innocent about Angela, even when she's sexy.

"Goodnight, Ingrid," I tease back. She's Ingrid. There is no Ingrid. I built this whole little story in my head, measured every kiss for over twenty years against that first, and then it turns out I never kissed an Ingrid. I kissed an Angela.

I kissed her again a few months ago. OK, she kissed me first, but I kissed back. And I'm the one who grabbed her and we looked into each other's eyes and—Now here I am wanting to kiss her again, no matter what she calls herself. Well, more than kiss.

_She's your boss, she's your boss, she's your boss,_ I chant in my head, like I'm some crazy monk who hasn't got the celibacy thing down yet.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Angela?"

"Are we going to tell anyone it was us?"

"No, what would be the point? Mona would think it meant we were supposed to be together, and Sam, well, you saw her, how romantic she thought it was."

"She's just a little girl. Twelve is a starry-eyed age."  
"She's almost as old as my 'older woman' was that summer."

"Right." She shakes her head. "And now Anthony and Ingrid have grown up."

"Yeah."  
"Tony, what would you have done if you'd met Ingrid under other circumstances? As an adult I mean."

"If she wasn't you? If she wasn't my boss?"

"Yes."

"If she wasn't someone whose friendship I don't want to lose?"

"I'm sorry, Tony, I shouldn't even have asked."  
"But you did ask, Angela. So I'm going to tell you. If somehow I ended up here in bed with Ingrid, at the least, the very least, I would have to find out if she was still as good a kisser as I thought she was all these years."

"But Tony you kissed me—OK, I kissed you, a few months ago. And you remember it better than I do."

"Yeah, I kissed you. I didn't kiss Ingrid."

"But I'm—Oh, right. Yes, I think Ingrid would want to see if Anthony was still as magical a kisser as he was in her memory."

"Magical?" I prop myself up on my elbow.

She blushes a little. "Yes, magical."

I bring my face closer, look into those deep dark eyes. "Ingrid must've known some pretty strong magic herself, to keep me thinkin' about her after so long." I remember now, right before she closed her eyes and I kissed her, Ingrid had those eyes. I've been thinking of her lips all these years. Well, and sometimes her bug spray. But yeah, the eyes, I can see them again.

She reaches her hand out and strokes my hair, like she did that night, only without the awkwardness of inexperience. That night, it was like she'd seen it in a movie, this is what you do when you kiss. When she stroked my hair in the kitchen though, it was to keep me close.

I fall into her now. I don't know how else to put it. I don't mean it's like an accident, but it's like gravity. Like the "walls of Jericho" falling when you try to put up a sheet between a rich girl and a working-class guy who are trying to platonically share a bedroom. Maybe the '80s aren't as different from the '30s as I thought.

She closes her eyes, not just because she saw it in a movie but because she wants to feel me, taste me. I know because I close mine, too, as my lips find her lips easily, inevitably. My tongue darts out, so I can kiss her more deeply. Then I wonder if this is too much too soon and I back out.

"You taste like Ingrid, only riper," I murmur, as I stroke her soft cheeks, her long neck.

"Your palms are sweaty," she teases. She's right. I'm wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, and the ceiling is leaking, but I'm sweating. Nerves, excitement? Maybe both.

"Sorry."

"I'm flattered. Anthony." That little spin on the name, which really is my name, even if I lied about my age. Anthony Morton Micelli, although she doesn't know about the Morton. We've gotten close in the last year, but there's still a lot we don't know. Hell, just in the last few hours, we've found out a lot.

"Is that how you remember Anthony kissing?"

"No. But Anthony has a lot more kissing experience these days."

"Yeah." There's no point in denying it. "And Ingrid's not quite so shy and awkward."

"Not quite." She pulls my head back down to hers and this time it's her tongue that's adventurous. Now, I've French-kissed quite a bit, obviously, but I've never, no, not even with Marie, done what starts happening now, this thing that's like the mouth equivalent of dancing, or of, well, of humping. Her tongue wraps around mine and I thrust inside, while we're licking each other. And our lips are dancing, too, and if a tongue could come, mine would.

I stop to breathe, to think, but as soon as I lie back, her face is on top of mine, kissing me, claiming me, and I want to say, "Lady, if you make love like you kiss, I want to marry you!" But of course I would never say that, especially to Angela. Maybe to Ingrid.

"Anthony, are you going to tell anyone you kissed Ingrid tonight?"

"Who would believe me?" I don't believe it myself.

She laughs and the way she tosses her hair, that beautiful wild blonde head, I want her even more. And this can't be possible. It's like there's no maximum. I think I've hit it and then she pushes me past it.

I reach up for her, trying to be gentle because it's Angela, but wanting Ingrid so bad, and I pull her hair as I bring her face back to mine. I want to apologize, but she moans. I made Angela moan! OK, I made Ingrid moan, but it's also Angela, and it's not dessert-related for once, except it's so sweet.

She's the one who says sorry. I shake my head. "Never apologize for that, Ang—Ingrid. I want you to feel good. And I want to make you make happy noises."  
"OK," she whispers.

And now we're kissing softly, like we're trying to get our bearings and make sure we're OK, but also like we can't stop kissing for very long.

"Is this better, Anthony? The way things aren't?"

"I don't know, Ingrid. I'm likin' it's so far, but it's too soon to say."

She snuggles against me, and I start having all these other feelings, like protectiveness, because let's face it, Angela doesn't kiss passionately in motel rooms, although Ingrid might. And as Angela's friend, I wonder if she's getting in over her head.

"You said, you said you didn't want us to lose each other as friends."

"I don't."

"Then should we stop?"

I laugh. "How, Angela?" It's a question for her, not Ingrid.

"You could go back to the chair."

"I don't want to go back to the chair. You don't want me to go back to the chair."

"I could sleep in the lobby."

"With that weird motel manager hangin' around? I don't think so. If anyone's gonna sleep in the lobby, it'll be me."

"No, stay here." She wraps her arms tighter around me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"I don't want to be anywhere else tonight."

"It's just one night."

"What?"

"That's all Anthony and Ingrid have. That's all they had then, too. Well, 57 seconds." She pokes me in the ribs.

"Ay, I said I was sorry."

"In case you can't tell, I've mostly forgiven you." She turns serious again. "They thought they'd never see each other again."

"Who?"

"Anthony and Ingrid. Two kids from different worlds."  
"Yeah. Little did they know."

"The kiss was sort of its own world, they got lost in it for only a minute, but it stayed with them. And he wanted to remember, so he carved her name."

"Yeah." I didn't do it when Bruce Weinberger was there. I went back across the lake in the rowboat we "borrowed" and I collected my bet and acted like a little stud. But the next night I went back. I don't know what I was thinkin'. We hadn't made plans to meet up again. But I guess I hoped she'd come lookin' for me again. And she didn't of course, but I wished she would. And I carved her name, and mine. Then for twenty years I tried to forget about her. And I wouldn't have ever known it was us, except that Jonathan, her son, the closest thing I'll probably ever have to a son, got homesick.

"They know," she says suddenly.

"Who?"

"Mother and the kids."

"They know we kissed?"

"No, they know we're in the same motel room. I just remembered. The manager said he'd call the camp for us."

"Yeah, but it's not like he's gonna tell them room numbers."

"He might."  
"God, you're right. He might. He may even tell them what we were wearing when he brought the pajamas."

We both start laughing. I can feel our bodies shaking together, and it's not sexual exactly, but I think of how she leaned on me and laughed at that awkward dinner for two we had soon after I moved in. What am I doing now? This is crazy! But how do you uncross lines?

"Did you really like how I looked in the sheet?"

"What, are you kiddin' me? Of course I did!"

"You look great without a shirt. Did you know that when _It Happened One Night_ came out, Clark Gable ruined undershirt sales because he looked so good with a bare chest?"  
"Yeah, I know." We're both old-movie buffs.

"I think that's when I first got interested in advertising."

"Huh?"

"When I first heard that story. It made me see how influential media can be."

"Yeah? Well, we watched porn together and we're not—" Don't say that word to Angela! Not even to Ingrid.

She blushes then giggles. "If we had set out to have a naughty weekend, we'd certainly have all the right elements for it."

"Yeah."

"Tony?"

"Yes, Angela?" It's getting to the point where I'm almost afraid to ask, but how can I not?

"Would you be willing to risk losing what you have with Ingrid?"

"Huh?"  
"Well, I think we've both built that kiss up into something beyond what it was."

"But it was a great, special kiss!" I can admit that now.

"I know. But it was just a kiss. Not even our best. Or Anthony and Ingrid's best."

"Well, no."

"Ingrid is not your boss. She is not your dear friend that you are raising two children with, watching movies with, eating meals with."

"No," I say slowly. "Angela is."

"Ingrid's just a girl you kissed one summer. That's your whole history."

"Well, yeah, I guess you can look at it that way."  
"Anthony, you are alone in bed with Ingrid. You want her." Her fingertips graze my crotch with the lightness of a butterfly, but she might just as well have grabbed me with both hands, the way I respond. (And believe me, I haven't exactly been flaccid tonight.) "She wants you." Her other hand leads one of mine to her chest and I can feel her nipples greet me even through the pajama top. "What does that have to do with Tony and Angela, really?"

I've never had more trouble thinking clearly, even when I've been drunk, and I've never needed to think clearly more. "Separate" is the only word I can verbalize.

She nuzzles my neck, and she knows from that Machismo commercial how I like nuzzling. "That's right. Tony and Angela are who they are. We're Anthony and Ingrid."

Now, it's not like I can't separate sex from other parts of my life. With women like Betty and Tanya, sex is just sex. But that's not what Angela (or is it Ingrid?) is suggesting. She's not saying, "Let's have a one-night stand. Let's do the nasty and then act like it meant nothing." She's saying, I think, that Tony & Angela will go on. Everything we've been to each other, just getting deeper over time. But Anthony & Ingrid get one grown-up night, to do whatever they want, to mean whatever it means.

So how do I react? Do I pull away, storm out, and sleep in the lobby? You kiddin' me?

I start undoing the pajama top. She sighs happily. Then she nuzzles my neck some more, whispering, "Please, Anthony, please, touch them."

Of course I do. There was no feeling her up, no trying to unhook her training bra, back then. Not with Bruce Weinberger watching, and not when I'd never even kissed a girl before. But as I got older, I'd picture Ingrid filling out, letting me touch her.

Little did I know I'd get to see Ingrid naked. Yeah, it was a complete accident, for which I apologized a dozen times. But you can't uncross that line either. Angela fresh and clean out of the bath, standing right there in front of me. You think I didn't wish that hadn't gone so badly? That I couldn't have seen her like that under happier circumstances?

And then a little while ago, she was in the "form-fitting sheet." And now she's letting me see her again, under happier circumstances.

I'm sure my hands are still sweating. Here I am, a grown, experienced man and I'm feeling nervous again. But I get the buttons undone. Her skin is much paler than mine—well, she did say she stayed out of the sun this summer—and so soft, so smooth.

"Anthony!" she gasps.

So sensitive. I'm going gently at first, not even touching her breasts, although you can bet your life I'm lookin' at them. My hands are just below her shoulders but my eyes are further down.

OK, you know what? I have seen bigger breasts. So what? I've never seen more beautiful ones. The shapes (round but with a little sauciness to them), the colors, including this pink that's like her favorite roses.

"You've got really pretty tits, Ingrid." I almost bite my tongue. You can't say that to Angela! Maybe not even to Ingrid.

She blushes and grins. "Thank you, Anthony." And she moves my hands down, so that I'm cupping her breasts. She sighs like she's been wanting me to do this for months. For all I know, she's been wanting Anthony to do this for years.

Then she kisses me and we kiss and kiss, while I'm holding and sometimes stroking or even squeezing her breasts. Her tongue gets playful, so I tweak her nipples, not too hard because of her sensitivity, but enough to make her pull on my hair a little.

My God, even if I don't get to be inside this woman tonight, she's already ruined me for anyone else! What am I saying? No, this is just a good makeout. I'm a grown man, I've had other women, this should not be getting to me like this.

She kisses my neck and then nuzzle nuzzle. "Anthony, can you kiss them?"

"Kiss your pretty tits, Ingrid? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, Anthony." Her voice hits this low register I've only heard a few times, like when she said, "So would you," when I told her she would remember it if we ever really went to bed.

At this point, my brain has melted so much I would loan her an interest-free $5000, so obviously I'm not gonna refuse giving her chest some more pleasure. Not when it's exactly what I want to do anyway.

I scoot down the little bed and my feet hang off but I don't care. I'd make out with her in the chair if I had to.

I cup one of her breasts and angle it so I can kiss the nipple. Very light at first, that's what I've learned about what Ingrid likes. She still gasps like she can't believe my lips are there. And my hand strokes and caresses the surrounding whiteness.

"So soft," I murmur, "but firm." Then I do the other one as best I can in this position.

She calls my name, well, Anthony's name. She's getting less self-conscious about making noises, and who could hear us over the thunderstorm anyway? The rain is pounding again, and so's her heartbeat.

I let her get used to me, and then I mix it up a little, get more teasing and also more demanding, till I'm sucking her tits. Mmm, sucking Ang—I mean Ingrid's tits. I bet she hasn't had anyone do this in awhile. She's certainly reacting like she hasn't.

Angela and I never talk about what we do with other people. I know she slept with Grant and Michael, because it was kind of hard not to know. She knows about Trish, because that was sort of in her face. We date a lot of different people, but I can't think that all those stiffs in suits are getting to second base with her. And to be honest, Michael's the only one who seemed capable of any kind of passion.

"Anthony, so good, so good, oh, oh, oh!"

It hits me like a sledgehammer: I can make Angela, OK, Ingrid come tonight. I bet not all her boyfriends, even the ones she goes to bed with, can say that. There's this pride, she'd probably call it my macho Brooklyn Italian pride, that makes me want to satisfy her thoroughly, to be able to say I did that. But there's also, I don't know what to call it, the thing that makes me mix her favorite martinis when she comes home from work. I like figuring out what she likes and doing it for her. Not as a servant, not as a friend, but both, neither, I don't know. I want to do that tonight, even if it's for Ingrid instead of Angela.

"What do you need, Baby?" I haven't risked pet names but it slips out. It feels right. "Baby" isn't quite Angela or Ingrid. It's the woman I want to satisfy.

"OH!" she gasps, and I don't know if it's at me calling her that, or at what my hands and mouth are doing.

"I wanna give you what you want, what you need."

"Darling!"

I wasn't expecting that. I freeze for a moment.

"Honey, can I show you?"

"Yeah, Baby, whatever you want." I slip right back into it. I don't know. Maybe Anthony & Ingrid wouldn't worry about this. They'd just do and say what feels right.

She guides one of my hands onto her smooth, flat stomach and then down to her pale pink panties.

"Does Ingrid want to be naked?"

She nods. So I help her out of her panties. Then she guides my hand between her legs. I almost feel like I'm a virgin again. I can't take anything for granted anymore. After all, I've been with women, but I haven't been with Ingrid before.

"Do you see how wet you've made me?"  
"That's not from the rain?"

"No, Anthony, it's not. What do you intend to do about it?"

"What would you like me to do about it, Ingrid?"

"The same thing you've done elsewhere."

It takes me a moment to process that, but then I understand. Very light touches, so I can get her used to me. And then tease. And after awhile, put my mouth to work as well as my hands.

If you've never kissed Ingrid, I guess you can't really understand that it's not like kissing anyone else. OK, yes, the mechanics of it are the same, but the feelings aren't. Well, there was Marie, but I don't know that Anthony would've married Marie, and anyway that's different. Separate.

Everywhere you kiss Ingrid, it's like your lips are on fire, like your brain has never been so muddled but so awake. Every inch of her, although of course some more than others, is responsive, to light touches and to hard sucks. It's like nothing else your mouth will ever do—laughing, eating, drinking, talking—will ever give you this much joy, or bring so much joy to another person.

So, yeah, I make Ingrid come. More than once. And then I'm the one who falls back on the bed afterwards, in exhaustion and disbelief.

"Is that what you wanted, Ingrid?" I gasp.

"Yes." She snuggles up against me, and I'm thinkin' _Oh, good, Angela's back, my friend._ But no, she's still Ingrid. "Some of what I wanted."

"You want more?" I want to give it to her but I need to catch my breath.

"I want you," she says simply and directly. And then she starts kissing and caressing me, but not just my face. Down to my arms and my chest, squeezing my muscles, giving my nipples harder tweaks than I gave her, but I can take it.

And then her hand finds its way into the pajama bottoms.

"Angela!" I need to talk to Angela, I need some sanity.

"I showed you how wet you made me. You need to show me how hard I've made you."  
"Well, it's not exactly something I can hide."

But she brings my erection out anyway. She nuzzles my neck and croons, "Nice and hard and big," while she plays with my penis. And I could tell her what I want done to me but I'm, well, leaving it in her hands.

"Poor Tony and Angela," she whispers. "I bet they would love to make love."

"Yeah, I bet they would."

"Angela would lllllooooovvve to have Tony inside her. But it would ruin their friendship."

"Yeah!" I gasp.

"Would Tony like to be inside Angela?"

"GOD YEAH!" I know there are a million reasons to say no, but I can't think of any at this second.

And then, Ingrid, damn her! She's playing with me, I mean she's totally playing with me. My penis, my brain, my heart. And it's wonderful and it's terrible and we're kissing again and my tongue humps the hell out of her mouth while her hands make me come.

"INGRID, OH GOD! INGRID!"

"Mmm, Anthony," Ingrid purrs.

But the rest of the night, she's Angela, only holding my hand as we sleep, both hands sticky, and not just from sweat. And in the morning, we smile at each other and we know we'll never tell anyone what happened the second night Anthony and Ingrid met up. I just hope we don't have to wait another twenty years.


	2. Buying Time

I buy _Time, Newsweek,_ and _The Wall St. Journal_ at the newsstand. Not that I expect to have time to read all three. And not that I think I can concentrate on reading anything. Even _The National Enquirer_ would be beyond me at the moment. But it's something to pass the time. And better that I sit pretending to read, than stare into space as I wonder how I ended up in this train station, about to make what may well be the biggest leap in my life.

It started over twenty years ago, but the more recent inception was when Tony was driving us back from the airport. We'd seen Jonathan off, and I wasn't the only one who had cried. My little boy isn't as little as he was even a year ago, but he's still little enough to cry at leaving his mom for a month, and Tony admitted on the way to the car that he "got a little misty" himself.

Jonathan and I have never been apart for more than a few days, but I'd promised Michael one summer a month. I was extremely relieved back in November when Michael gave up the crazy idea of splitting Jonathan's life in two, six months in Connecticut, six months in California and wherever Michael and, ugh, Heather drag him off to.

"Like he's some filial version of Persephone," I'd muttered to Tony, not expecting him to get the reference.

But Tony had joked back, "Does that make California Hell?"  
He was just as upset about the possibility of losing our little boy as I was. And Jonathan is ours. Tony and I didn't say it out loud, but he's been more of a real father to Jonathan than Michael ever was. Jonathan told me later how Tony tried to reassure him before the wedding, how he told him that everyone gets scared, even Tony. But Jonathan also said, with an eight-year-old's way of not being judgmental, Michael said Bowers don't get scared and he didn't want Jonathan to ruin his big moment.

Well, I may be only a Bower by marriage, but I know they get scared. I'm scared right now, although not to the point of nausea. OK, find a bench and pretend to read.

We'd crossed the state line back into Connecticut when Tony suddenly said, "So I've been thinking about the anniversary."

My heart skipped a beat and I thought _Oh my God, we're going to talk about what he meant when he said he loved me!_ And in a way, I was relieved and excited, but I was also scared. Because I don't know if I love Tony in the way that I'd thought he might love me. We didn't talk about it in the hospital, because he decided to sweep it under the carpet, pretend he just said, "Ouch." And I went along with it because of my fear, and because of my concern, since he was recovering from major surgery.

And then we didn't talk about it after he went home from the hospital, and life went on mostly as it had, but it was hardly the first time for that, although the circumstances had changed.

"The anniversary?" I said cautiously.

"Yeah, it's coming up. And, uh, do you think Anthony and Ingrid should observe it?"

Believe me, I was not expecting that. Even a turnpike confession of love would've thrown me less. For a year, well, almost a year considering it wasn't quite the anniversary, we did our best to act as if we had not fooled around in a creepy motel with a collapsed ceiling. That's not to say that we went back to exactly where we left off before we found out we'd shared our first kiss. It brought us closer, even if we pretended it wasn't exactly us but grown-up versions of the two star-crossed kids.

It was my idea. Look, we were sharing a small bed and a pair of pajamas. And it'd been a night filled with sexual tension. I'd confessed to my name change, he'd confessed to his lies and deception. And we'd also confessed how much that kiss meant to us, even two decades later. But Tony didn't want to change things between us, and I had mixed feelings.

So, after some let's-see-how-this-compares-to-the-first-one kisses (even better as adults, especially sober adults), I suggested we "be" Anthony and Ingrid, separate them from us. As I said, I don't think we entirely succeeded, even that night. In the end, I couldn't cross the final line, let him be inside me. And he seemed pretty overwhelmed by my "Ingrid side," the sort of passion that I'd only expressed with Michael. (I came close with Brian, but we didn't consummate our very brief marriage. And Tony doesn't know about Brian. No one does. Brian Thomas is an even bigger secret than Anthony.)

Foreplay with Tony was much better than with Grant. With Grant, it was a step in a process. With Tony, whether or not it led to anything else, it was lovely in of itself. Lovely and, blush, hot. The morning after our drunken kiss (what we thought at the time was our first kiss), he'd said if we ever "lost each other as friends," he'd want me to remember it and, oh, I still get toasty when I think of it, the way he said, "And you would." And I replied, rather Ingridly, "So would you."

And I have no doubt that if we "went all the way" that it would be incredibly memorable. But instead we had a night to remember that doesn't quite exist. When people—Mother, Wendy, Diane Wilmington, even Jonathan!—ask why I don't have sex with Tony, how am I supposed to answer? Not that it's any of their business (well, maybe Mother's), but I don't even know how to answer that for myself. We sort of have had sex but then we haven't.

And when Tony was running for PTA President, Joanne Parker's accusations were false about me and Tony, but not about Ingrid and Anthony. So when she asked (at a PTA meeting!) if he'd slept with me and/or seen me naked, he told of how he'd done both accidentally. He didn't say a word about what Ingrid deliberately requested of him and he happily granted.

So I wasn't sure how to reply to Tony on the way back from the airport. A cautious "Well, do you think they'd want to? To observe it?" was all I could manage at first.

"Yeah, I think Ingrid would. She's a wild woman," he teased.

"Anthony wasn't exactly running out of the room last anniversary," I teased back.

"No, he wasn't," he said quietly.

"But I can't imagine them going back to that awful motel." It was one thing to go there out of desperation. If we were going to plan this, then we could change details.

"Nah, I was thinkin', they could just go to that general area, near their summer camps. Like rent a little rustic cabin."

"Not too rustic. No outhouses."

"OK, a rustic cabin with a bathroom en suite."

"That would be nice."

"Someplace away from it all, but not roughing it too much."

"Right."

"Of course, they do like the outdoors. Maybe they should pitch a tent, sleep under the stars."

"Anthony was pitching quite a tent last time." I gasped. I couldn't believe I said that out loud to Tony.

He seemed startled a moment, and then in the same tone of voice as for "And you would," he said, "Well, Ingrid was so nice to help him straighten the pole."  
I almost backed off but something made me keep going. "Maybe this time they could put it on firmer but deeper ground."

Tony glanced at me and for a moment I thought he was going to pull over to the side of the road and have his way with me. But he put his eyes back on the road and said quietly, "They'll rent a cabin. More romantic."

"OK."

After that, it was a matter of my planning a "business trip" and Tony taking me to the Fairfield train station. But then I headed north to the station nearest our old camps. Meanwhile, Tony would return to the house and tell Mother that he's going to Brooklyn for a couple days, to look up an old girlfriend or two. She could watch Sam, who's spending most of the summer in her friends' backyards anyway, at pool parties and BBQs. Knowing Mother, she'll go to the pool parties and BBQs and be everyone's favorite guest.

Tony promised to meet up with me here as soon as he can, without exceeding the speed limit too much. Obviously, this gives me time to think, to have second thoughts. But as scared as I am, I think I'll go through with it. It's better than always wondering.

I'm not scared of the sex exactly. This isn't my second wedding night, with Michael a little impatient about my virginity. Not that he was rough or brutal, but, well, Michael is self-absorbed. He came, I didn't, but I cleaned up the mess. ("Angela, leave it for the maid in the morning. It's what they're paid for.")

Tony, I know, would've been gentle but coaxing and then passionate when I was ready for it. I'm sure that's how he was his first time with Marie. (Which probably wasn't his first time, if I know Tony, and I think I do.) Even if our first time together will hardly be our first time of all (unlike the kiss at the Rock), I don't think he'll just jump me. I mean, the man knows his foreplay! Plus he's so thoughtful and sensitive. (Well, most of the time.) The passion will be playful and, well, loving with a small L.

What I'm scared of is what the sex would mean. I do believe it could change our relationship for the better, but what if it doesn't? And what does it mean if Anthony and Ingrid have sex but Tony and Angela are just close friends who flirt?

Part of me wants to back out, and part of me wants to see what happens. And, oh God, part of me wants to hear Tony say he loves me, although I doubt that Anthony would say that to Ingrid. Anthony and Ingrid hardly know each other!

I know how crazy this sounds, believe me. It's tempting to catch the return train to Fairfield and pretend the business trip got cancelled. But that wouldn't be fair to Tony, who's on his way here. And it's not like he has a car phone in that rusty old van, and it's not the kind of call I want to make from a pay phone.

I'll see how I feel when he gets here. Maybe he's having doubts, too, and we'll just try to forget the whole thing. Like I said, we have practice at that.

Then I see him in the doorway, politely pushing past people, looking for me. And then he sees me and he grins. Tony has the most amazing smile. It's almost impossible to not smile back, which has been a problem the times I've been mad at him. I know he has this effect on other people, and not just women. There's something so generous about Tony's smile, like he wants you to be as happy as he is, and that will make him even happier.

I grin back. I throw the magazines in my overnight bag and stand up. He runs towards me and I run to him, my bag banging against my hip, and we throw our arms around each other like we haven't seen each other in a year.

"Ingrid Baby, I've missed you!"

"Anthony, Anthony!"

I love train stations. No one bats an eye. Not even when we share a lovers' reunion kiss.

We break apart and look into each other's eyes, reading lust and amusement. We're playing but it's also real.

"Uh, let me take your bag."

"Thank you."

He puts it in one hand but holds my hand with his other. We make our way out of the station and to the van.

"So, Ing, ready for our rustic cabin?"

"Yes, Anthony." Oh, am I ready! All of my doubts have melted away. Not to say they might not return when we're in bed together, but for now, this feels so right.

"Me, too," he says, letting go of my hand and tossing my bag into the back of the van. Then he escorts me to the front, opening my door, helping me in. Anthony does have his gentlemanly side.

We don't talk at first and then I have to ask, "So how did Angela's mother react to Tony's weekend plans?"

He blushes a little. "Um, she said." He coughs. "You really wanna know?"

Does Mother suspect something? "What did she say?" I demand.

"Well, she said, 'Good idea. You need to de-Connecticut-ize a bit. Maybe get laid for a change.' "

I blush, at Mother's crudity and at the idea that Tony hasn't been, um, getting that. I don't know if he has. I don't think so. The first year we lived together, well, not lived together, but shared a house, his head was turned by any flirty, pretty woman. But I know for a fact that since his reunion with Ingrid, he's turned down at least four very attractive women—Cassandra the Crazy Cat Lady, Gina the Perfect Old-Fashioned Italian Potential Wife, Diane Wilmington, and Genevieve Pescher—although he came very close with Mademoiselle Pescher. That's not to say he's been with no one, but he's more selective now I think.

"I didn't tell Mona that Brooklyn isn't where I'm going for that."  
I blush more.

"Not that we have to—I mean, we'll just see how it goes, right?"

"Right. Anthony and Ingrid will at least kiss."

"They will always at least kiss."

We smile at each other and then he tries to focus on his driving some more.

It's only about fifteen minutes to the cabin. I booked it, paid for it. Tony resisted that at first, but I said that we know Ingrid was a rich girl and Anthony was a poor boy. He'd have to find nonmonetary ways to repay her. Tony grinned at that.

"Down this road, right?" he asks.

"I think so. I thought you don't trust my sense of direction."

"Well, just when it comes to finding Make-Out Rock."

"I found it twenty years ago!" I say indignantly. Then I remember, I couldn't find the Rock when I tried to go back the night after our kiss. It was crazy, I know, but I was a starry-eyed thirteen-year-old who thought she'd found a summer romance. Anthony and I hadn't made any promises to return but I thought he'd feel the way I did and he'd go back. I guess he did, although I didn't realize it till I found out about Tony carving Ingrid's name on the Rock. At the time, I figured he hadn't returned, because he never sent me a message saying "Where were you? I waited an hour!", or anything like that.

What would've happened if I'd found the Rock, found Anthony again? Would our lives have gone differently? Or would it never have been more than a summer romance? After all, he was only, oh dear, eleven. Hardly the age to make a lifetime commitment, or even to go steady.

I read Tony the directions I got from the travel agent. We find the campsite and check in, as "Anthony Micelli and Ingrid Weinberger." That's Tony's whimsical touch, in honor of his friend Bruce, who timed us. I was hurt and annoyed a year ago, but now I can see the humor in it. And obviously this, whatever it is, has lasted more than fifty-seven seconds.


	3. And Then

The cabin is nice. Nothing fancy but nice. Rustic I guess, but not Yuppie rustic, and not falling-apart rustic. Just nice and rustic.

Other than the bathroom Angela wanted, it's got a little kitchen area with a wood stove, which I can work with, and of course the living/bedroom. I'm kind of glad it's got a convertible sofa bed. It makes the reason why we're here a little less obvious. After all, we're not even going to try to watch TV this time, not that there is a TV.

"So, here we are," Angela says, shutting the door behind us. She's not yet Ingrid. I think we're both a little nervous. We agreed we don't have to have sex this weekend but it's a possibility. And I don't think we came all this way just to hold hands.

"Yeah," I say, setting our bags down. I wish I knew what else to say, not that Anthony and Ingrid ever did much talking.

"Um, do you want to use the bathroom first or should I?"  
"Uh, I'll go first, if it's OK." I just have to pee and shave my five o'clock shadow. I'm not sure if we're changing into our pajamas yet or not. It's not even dark yet. But I think I'll at least take off my shoes.

"Yes, go ahead."  
"Thanks." I decide not to take everything into the bathroom with me, just my shaving kit. The bathroom's kind of on the small side. Any hopes of a bubble bath for two, or even a nice hot shared shower go out the window, but it's OK. I feel like we're more ready for sex than we are for that sort of intimacy, if that makes sense.

When I emerge from the bathroom, I ask, "Do you want me to start dinner while you're in there?"

"Oh, are you going to cook tonight?"  
"Well, yeah, I brought a few things. I mean, it's kind of far to have a pizza delivered, let alone Chinese."

"True. Thank you, Tony."

"You're welcome, Angela." We're not yet playing the game, being them. I don't think we have to every moment. Just the moments that don't belong to us, the Tony & Angela we're trying to preserve.

When she goes into the bathroom, I go take the groceries out of the van. I went to the market nearest the train station where we were meeting up. I got things that wouldn't spoil, just in case there wasn't a fridge, and there isn't. Rice, canned stuff, cereal. We're only staying two nights so I didn't have to get a lot. And obviously this is not the weekend to prepare any elaborate feasts. I hope to be otherwise occupied. On the other hand, I can't let Ingrid starve.

I make tuna and rice while I wait. By the time it's ready, she comes out in a cute blue & white polka-dot sundress I've never seen before, with her hair up, which I like, although I don't think she knows that.

"Nice," I say. I never know how to compliment Angela. I'm always afraid of saying too much. And with Ingrid, well, I'm just getting to know her again.

"Thank you. I figured something informal would be all right, since we're dining in."

"Yeah. Uh, sorry I didn't change." Truth is, I didn't bring a change of anything but two pairs of underwear and one shirt. My hope was I wouldn't be wearing clothes most of the weekend, and I would just need something different enough to come home from "Brooklyn" in.

"You look nice. Well, you always look nice."

I thank her and can't help thinking that she's still getting used to complimenting me, too.

There's no dining table or even coffee table, so we just sit on the couch and hold our plates and our forks. I kind of wish we did have a TV, at least for this part. It would help to relax watching it, and maybe we could snuggle up after dinner.

We talk about Mona and the kids and the agency and the house, but there's not much to say, considering we see each other every day.

We sit in silence for awhile, well, except for the sounds of chewing.

Then I say, "I wonder what Ingrid's been up to in the past year."

Not for nothin' is Angela in advertising. "Well, let me tell you about Ingrid," she says and launches into a story, like she's Ingrid's best friend. Apparently, Ingrid never married. She just devoted herself to her career, as a professor of Literature at NYU. She lives with her cats Charlotte, Emily, Anne, and Branwell. (Angela has to explain to me that they're named after the Bronte family. I've seen the '30s version of _Wuthering Heights,_ with Olivier, but I've never read the books.) She says, "They don't sleep in her bed." I know she's teasing me about Cassandra the Crazy Cat Lady.

"Good."

"Oh, and Ingrid published a new book last Fall. Well, you know, publish or perish."

"Uh, right."

"And Anthony, how's he doing?"

"Oh, well, you know Anthony." What am I doin' in this parallel world? Did I marry, did I have kids? "He never married either. I don't know if he ever will settle down."

"Oh, so he dates a lot?"

"Well, yeah, some. But mostly he's real into his career, too."

"As?"

"Uh, as a chef."

"Oh, how nice!"

"Yeah, he loves to cook. And, uh, yeah, he's a chef at an Italian restaurant."

"He'll have to cook for Ingrid sometime."

"Well, he'd have to have a fancier kitchen than this. To do anything really impressive. And it's not like they see each other long enough, or often enough, for him to spend half the day cooking."

"True."

We look down at our plates and we've finished eating without even noticing.

"Allow me to take your plate, Madame."

"Oh, I can help you buss the, um, couch."

So we take our plates over to the kitchenette. I find myself thinking of Gina, how she didn't want to cook together, when that was something I'd looked forward to, having that in common, like with Marie. Angela likes to help me in the kitchen, even if sometimes it's like Sam helping me when she was little. Angela is very smart, but not about cooking. Even with dish-washing, well, she's been known to break a plate or two. Luckily, these are paper, and the forks are plastic, so we just throw them in the trash.

"Well, so much for dinner and the dishes," I say.

"What do you think Ingrid and Anthony would do next?"

"Well, we do know they like to kiss, and this might be a good moment."

"Yes, it might."

So we lean towards each other and kiss. It's not a hot, needy kiss like the drunk one in the kitchen back home, but it is our first kiss in a year. It's experimental I guess you could call it. I don't think we're back in Anthony & Ingrid mode yet.

Maybe we can't be, I suddenly think. Maybe Anthony & Ingrid can't be planned. Maybe this was a mistake, nice though it is.

"How about we go back to the sofa?"

"OK," I say.

We go over and sit back down. She takes my hand and squeezes it.

"Do you think Anthony and Ingrid have been thinking about each other?"

"Well, yeah. I told you. He thought about her all those years, wondering how her teeth turned out."

"I mean this past year."

"Well, yeah, Anthony would. He never expected to see her again, and to have a night like that, out of nowhere. Yeah, he'd think about her."

She nods. "Anthony is like no other man she's ever met. Ingrid thinks about him."  
"Yeah?" My voice gets a little huskier. "What does she think?"

"She thinks about how lucky she was to see him again, but how unlucky, too."  
"Unlucky?"

"Because she can't see more of him. Because he doesn't fit into her everyday life. Because he's separate."

"Yeah. Anthony would love to have Ingrid around more, but it wouldn't work."

"Right. Still, they met again, a year later."

"After the motel?"

"Yes, and they found a rustic little cabin. Far from their everyday lives."

"Yeah, because they had to be alone, be together again, even if it's just for a couple days."

And then it clicks and Angela and I start kissing passionately. Or Anthony and Ingrid I guess I should say.

Soon I'm kissing her bare neck. "Missed you, Baby," I murmur.

"I missed you, too, Anthony!" she gasps.

Her dress has two narrow shoulder straps, no sleeves, and it's lowcut by her usual standards, if still pretty modest. The skirt is very long. I don't know why she's so shy about her great legs.

I kiss where her skin is bare, and she makes those happy little sounds I like to hear. Then I lower the straps and kiss her shoulders. She's not wearing a bra. I remember her breasts from a year ago and want to see them again. But I don't have to rush this. We have two nights instead of one this time, and we do not have to face the family in the morning.

Yeah, the family. We are a family, the five of us I mean. I try not to think of what this would do to the kids and Mona if they knew we were sneaking around like this. Anyway, it's not us, it's Anthony and Ingrid.

Angela kisses my face and undoes the buttons of my shirt. She nuzzles me. She must know what that does to me. And then she starts caressing my chest and I want to do the same to her.

"So this sundress," I say. "What's it got, a zipper? Or do you just pull it over your head?"

She blushes a little. "There are buttons down the back."

I run my hand along her back, finding the big buttons, which I later notice are white. I undo them one by one, slowly, and then ease down the top of her dress, exposing her chest and stomach.

"Bellísima," I whisper.

"Grazie," she replies. Her accent is terrible, but I appreciate the attempt.

I caress her with my eyes as well as my hands. Not yet my mouth, I'm saving that.

"Anthony," she murmurs again.

"Ingrid. Beautiful Ingrid."

"Oh, To—Anthony."

"What does beautiful Ingrid want to do now?"

"Well, um, if it's not too early, maybe we should convert the sofa."

"It's not too early."

So, with a little nervous laughter from both of us, we flatten the sofa into a bed, piling the cushions where they'll provide the most comfort.

Then I have her lay back while I prop myself up on an elbow. "So, Ingrid, how's it goin'?"

"I can't complain."

"I hope not."

And then I kiss her sweet mouth and caress her breasts, softly with both at first, and then teasing with my tongue and my thumbs.

"Ingrid, why did you wear such a long skirt?" I ask after awhile.

"Oh, well, I usually wear long skirts."

"But you've got such gorgeous legs, from what I remember."

"Thank you, Anthony."

"Why don't you show them off?"

"I'm shy."

"You don't have to be shy with me, Ingrid."

"Thank you. But also, well, I didn't want you to think I brought you up here for only one thing."

"So you're not just after my body?"

"No, not just."

"I'm after your body, Ingrid," I risk saying. "I like what I know of your mind and other parts you have inside, but I like your body. I want to see more of it."

"Well, I guess I could shorten my skirt." So she hikes it up for me. And I grin at the sight of those two long stems of hers.

I scoot down and caress her legs. Her hem now hangs mid-thigh, like a micro-mini. Watching her dark brown eyes, I move my hands up under her skirt. She gasps but doesn't stop me.

I'm in just the right position to start kissing her chest, so I do. I tease her inner thighs with my hands as my mouth teases her tits. She arches her back and I imagine moving inside her. But there's time for that later, hopefully this weekend, although I know not to assume anything about Ingrid.

Then she says, "Come up here. I want to kiss you some more." So I do. And we kiss, and I squeeze her breasts and she arches again, and I want to play between her legs.

"Does Ingrid want help taking her panties off again?"  
"Yes, Anthony."

So I help her. This time they're blue, a pastel, rather than the bright blue of the sundress that's now covering very little of her.

"Ingrid, could you suck on my thumb?"

"Your thumb? Can't you do that yourself?"  
"I want you to."

So she does, although she looks a little puzzled. She's a great sucker, as my tongue remembers, and my penis hardens more, now in jealousy, but that's not what this is about.

I take my wet thumb and put it against her clit. Her eyes widen in surprise and then close in pleasure as I start vibrating my thumb. She comes—I love the way she comes, like a candle melting combined with waves crashing—whispering in my ear and nuzzling my neck to let me know just how much she likes it, well, loves it.

"Anthony," she sighs.

But I'm not done. She's open for me now and my fingers slip inside her, alternating pumping and teasing. I did some of this last time but not like this. And I watch her eyes as much as I can. I can't explain why, except that they're so expressive, even when they're closed.

"Did you miss that, Baby?" I tease after she comes again.

"That's some of what I missed," she says, and her hands go for my belt buckle. Oh, yes, this is definitely Ingrid now.

And in a way, I'd love another handjob, but I want to be inside her. I love our foreplay, but I don't want to stay there forever. Maybe tomorrow we can do the real thing. This can be our getting-reacquainted night.

Then she says, "Did you bring condoms?"

Condoms? I haven't used condoms since I was a teenager in the '60s, and you can imagine how that used to go over in Confession.

"Neither of us has been celibate, Anthony. And AIDS is a risk even for heterosexuals."

"Oh, right." I've been hearing that more and more. But I've been lucky so far, and the women I've been with are usually on some form of birth control. "No, I didn't bring any."

"I did."

I stare at her.

"I didn't want to make any assumptions. But just in case. And I'm on the Pill, so we should be safe from pregnancy."  
"Well, good." What the hell's wrong with me? Why didn't I even think about that? What a disaster that would be if I got Angela pregnant! Hell, it would be no picnic for Anthony and Ingrid either, considering how they hardly ever see each other. What am I saying? There is no Anthony & Ingrid. Well, not exactly

"Let me go get my overnight bag." So she gets up while I lie here, half stunned that we seem to be about to have sex. Yeah, we've been talkin' and thinkin' about it, but that's a long way from doin' it.

She fishes in her bag and then comes back with a box of Trojans. "I didn't know what brand you'd like. Next time, um, I mean if there is a next time, you can pick them out. Or we can go shopping together, whatever you prefer."

Yeah, I can just see us at the drugstore back home, going, "So, for our wild weekend with secret identities, do you think we should get the kind that are lubricated on the inside? How do you feel about ribbed for your pleasure?"

These, like the cabin, look nice but not fancy. I don't get a close look at them because she says, "I should probably put it on you since you've got my, um, fluids on your hands."

I don't argue. Ingrid is going to undress me, put a condom on me, and have sex with me. That's all I need to know.

She unzips my jeans and helps me ease them down. I've got boxers on. I thought about wearing sexy underwear, but that's not really my thing, and anyway I didn't want her to think I was making assumptions.

She eases the boxers down, too. Now I'm just wearing my socks and my unbuttoned shirt.

She smiles down at me. "You're gorgeous, Anthony. Do you know that?"

"Well, it's always nice to hear."

She laughs, but in a nice way. And then she unwraps a condom and slides it onto me. My penis remembers the feel of her hands and it almost feels like he's grinning. He doesn't even mind the condom, not with her putting it on.

And then, this is very Ingrid, she mounts me! Her skirt swirls around us like a tent. And she carefully, slowly slides herself onto me, me into her.

We both gasp at the first moment of penetration. Our bodies are eager for more, but our minds are almost in shock. At least I assume hers is, from her facial expression.

"Anthony, you're inside me," she murmurs.

"Yeah, Baby, it feels good." It does. The condom might as well not be there for all my penis cares. As far as he's concerned, he's in her. He's rubbing her walls as she moves on and around him. "Real good!"

Then she brings her face down to nuzzle my neck and whisper, "It's really happening! I can't believe it!"

"Me neither," I whisper back. "So good inside you, Baby."

I'm not thrusting yet. I'm barely moving. I'm letting her get to know me like this. When she's ready, then I'll do some exploring.

She swims on me for awhile and then says, "Anthony, don't you want to make love to me?"

That word. That word that I can't say to her. The word that slipped out when I was in the hospital. I think I meant that I love her like a dear friend, someone I would trust to raise my daughter if something happened to me. But she's my boss, and you can't love your boss, can you? Well, Mona told Jonathan that "there's the way you love your housekeeper." Does Angela love me like that?

Anthony and Ingrid can't love each other. I mean, yeah, puppy love or whatever back when they were kids. But they don't really know each other enough to do more than like each other. Still, do you have to love someone to make love?

And it will be making love. It won't be humping or a cruder term. Well, maybe a little of that. But I think Anthony would make love to Ingrid if she asked him to, even if they never saw each other again. Or maybe only once a year.

"I would love to," I tell her. And then, cautiously at first, I thrust from underneath. She shudders in pleasure, which makes me thrust more.

"I need to get on top," I say. For all I know, Ingrid is too much of a feminist to allow that. But I can't get a good rhythm from underneath.

"OK," she says and carefully dismounts. We both look at the condom, but it's still snug around me. We lay next to each other, and I give her some more thumbing, and she spreads her legs wide for me. And she's so beautiful that I almost can't stand it.

And the only thing I can do then is get on top of her and enter her, slowly, teasingly, at first, till she begs for it, for me. It's partly an ego thing, to make Ang—I mean Ingrid want me as bad as I want her. But it's also that I have to know that this is what she really wants.

"Anthony, please!" she says desperately, impatiently, grabbing my butt and bringing me deeper into her. And then and then and then. And then!

Words are great. I love words, although not as much as Angela does. But sometimes words can't capture feelings, or the feel of something.

I kiss her as I move inside her, not just kissing her mouth, but all around her face, and along her neck. I call her name when I come, and I want to say Angela, but it wouldn't be fair. She's so lucky that she gets to say my real name, even if it's not my everyday name. But then I think Anthony is closer to who Tony is than Ingrid is to Angela.

I last long enough to give her one more orgasm for the night, but I come as she arches her back that time. And then all I want to do is sleep, but luckily she's sleepy, too, so she doesn't mind. I wish I could sleep inside her! That's crazy of course. I haven't felt like that since Marie, and that scares me of course.

I settle for sleeping with our legs intertwined, her head on my shoulder, like a year ago. But, yeah, this year is very different. For one thing, we'll get a second night.


	4. A Walk in the Woods

How lovely it is to wake up next to Tony! Well, Anthony.

Just like a year ago, we smile at each other, but it's different now of course, because we've become even closer, physically and emotionally. And this time we know it's not just one night.

I glance down at his crotch. Oh my, he's hard again! Well, I can't say I'm terribly surprised. I want to make love with him again. I reach out for him, but he gently moves my hand away.

"Not now, Baby."

I try not to feel rejected. Maybe he doesn't like it first thing in the morning.

"Later, I promise," he says, finally stripping off the shirt I unbuttoned hours ago. "But right now I'm gonna take a shower."

"OK."

So I lay here in the bed alone, thinking about last night, thinking about today. Trying not to think too much outside of this weekend.

Anthony was inside Ingrid! And it was wonderful! It was this strange combination of what I imagine sex with an almost-stranger would be like, the illicitness of that, along with the comfort of knowing that really, all games aside, this was my dearest friend, perhaps the man I trust most in the world. And Anthony is Tony enough to care what gives me pleasure, to have that sensitivity and consideration.

Yes, there was less foreplay than last time, but last time was nothing but foreplay. And it's not like we spent the past year thinking entirely platonically about each other.

I wish I could join him in the shower, but it's a very narrow stall, and he seems to want some time alone, maybe to think about what we've done, what it means. I don't know what it means. I can't really know that till this weekend is over and we're back to normal life.

He returns to me, fresh and clean and now completely naked, not even wearing socks, but his erection is gone and I understand one reason he took a shower. Well, I will bring it back later. Ingrid will bring that erection back.

I go to take a shower myself, imagining my hands are his, remembering every moment of last night that I can. When I go home, I will have to try not to remember, but I can think of him, of Anthony, as much as I want right now.

I wrap myself in a towel, picking up my discarded sundress from the bathroom floor, since I'm sure Anthony has enough of Tony's neatness to object to the mess. Indeed, when I return, he's made the bed and made it back into a sofa.

"Uh, could you put on some clothes? That's a little distracting." He's wearing yesterday's jeans and shirt.

I think of how he ogled me in my "fitted sheet," but I felt shy then, while now I want to feel sexy. Still, he's right. There'll be time for ogling later. I get my overnight bag and take it into the bathroom, since I assume he doesn't want me to get dressed in front of him right now.

I put on underwear, not sexy underwear, since I didn't pack any, and a T-shirt and hiking shorts. I didn't know if we'd go outside at all this weekend, but I brought these just in case.

"Nice," he says when I return.

"Thank you. Um, what are we having for breakfast?" I'm guessing it'll be something simple, like the little dinner last night, but that's fine.

He brings me a plastic bowl with cereal and a plastic spoon.

"Cheerios?"

"Well, I couldn't get eggs or bacon since it might've spoiled without a fridge. I could make toast if you want, over the stove."  
"Cereal is fine." It shows how little I think about kitchen matters, that I didn't even consider these things. Tony of course would. But then, I don't think he gave any thought to contraception, and he's probably much more sexually active than I am.

"Sorry there's no milk. I poured you a cup from the tap."

"Thank you." I take the plastic cup from him and try not to think about my morning juice and coffee.

We sit on the couch and the mood is different than at dinner. Pre- rather than post-, if you know what I mean. My whole body is screaming, "You made love to me last night, Tony!", while I'm pretending that we're just pals hanging out. It's both arousing and frustrating, but it's also cozy, in a different way than at home.

"So, we don't have to check out till tomorrow at 11 a.m.," I say. "What did you want to do today?" I use a casual tone of voice, although he can respond flirtatiously if he wants.

"Well, I was thinkin', maybe after breakfast, we can go for a walk in the woods."  
"Oh." He doesn't want to do it outside, does he? On the one hand, that would be wild, in more ways than one, and on the other, I don't want to have to worry about mosquitoes and poison oak.

"I need to go for a walk with Angela," he says, very seriously. "Anthony and Ingrid will stay here."

He makes them sound like some annoying couple we're sharing this little cabin with and he needs to take a break from them. I feel hurt that he doesn't like them as much as I do, like they're good friends of mine that he just didn't hit it off with.

"We'll come back to them later. But Angela and I need to talk."

"Can't you—can't we talk here?"

"No, it needs to be in the fresh air."  
"OK." I'm a little scared. This isn't the Tony I expected to see this morning. I thought that if I did see Tony, he would be sweet and affectionate, flirty and sexy. Did I do something wrong? Was I too much Ingrid? Or not enough?

He kisses my cheek. "Angela, it's OK. I just want to clear some things up."

"Things? What things?" Things like "Angela, I love you"?

"We'll talk in the woods. You done with breakfast? Or you want some more?"

"I, I'm almost done." I can hardly taste the oaten O's. Oaten O's, O's of oat. That sounds like an ad, although I've never had a food account as big as Cheerios.

When we're done, we put the "dishes" in the trash and find our shoes. Then we go outside. It's a gorgeous morning. The birds are singing, the sun is shining. My heart is breaking.

Then he takes my hand and says, "Let's try this path."

It'll be OK. We agreed that Angela & Tony will go on, no matter what.

We walk awhile in silence. I can't do small talk right now and one nice thing about being out in nature is you don't have to say anything. You can just smile and point if you want. So we do.

Neither of us knows where we're going. "Maybe we should've brought the bread," he says after a few minutes. "For crumbs."

"The birds would probably eat them. Anyway, as long as we stay on the path, then we can find our way back."

"Yeah," he says, and there seems to be a lot behind his words, like maybe we've wandered off our path for this weekend, or are in danger of it at least.

We get to a clearing with a bench. I don't know how private a talk we can have, considering there are other cabins at our site, but at least we can start. And maybe if we're lucky, everyone else will have a lazy morning inside their cabins.

He takes out a handkerchief and dusts off the bench for me. I smile in thanks and sit down. He sits near but not next to me.

"So," he says.

"So," I echo. He'll have to start this conversation himself because I have no idea where it's going.

"So Anthony and Ingrid had quite a first time together, didn't they?"

"Yes. Yes, they did."

"Anthony is looking forward to the second time."  
"So is Ingrid."

"Good. And it probably won't be a year from now. Definitely not twenty."

"Definitely not."

"Not even a day."

"An hour?" I venture.

He smiles a little. "I think they'll have to wait more than an hour."

"OK."

He turns serious again. "Angela, are you gonna be OK, back home, knowing that Anthony and Ingrid have crossed the last line?"

I'm not sure how to answer that. Does he mean that it might be frustrating going back to not even kissing now that I really know what he's like in bed? Or does he regret what we've done and wonder if I have regrets?

"I don't know. I can't know that yet."  
"Yeah."

"How about you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm going to see you differently because of Ingrid. I mean, I did already but even more now."

"Differently?" Does he think less of me now? Tony has some funny, old-fashioned ideas about "girls you fool around with" and "girls you marry." I overheard him telling Mother. So far I, at least in my non-Ingrid moments, have been neither.

"Well." He doesn't look at me. "Ingrid is very passionate. And playful in a different way than Angela is. But it's like Angela's legs."

"Angela's legs?"

"Yeah, I know how good they are but I usually don't see them, just glimpses at most."

"Ah." I'm beginning to understand.

"It's probably different for you, because well, Tony and Anthony are very alike."

"Yes, mostly. But Tony is one of my best friends. And he's helping me raise Jonathan. And I share his concerns about and hopes for Samantha. And we laugh together, watch movies together. He makes me wonderful meals and does little thoughtful things. We talk together about everything, well, almost everything."

"Yeah, Anthony and Ingrid don't have that. They're not sharing a life together. I mean, not like mar—I mean, they don't live in one house."

"Right."

"I wouldn't say it's just physical with them, but it's mostly physical. While with Tony and Angela, it's mostly not."

"Right."

"I wish there was a way to have both, but the two things are in contradiction. You can't have a nice, family-like atmosphere for the kids, and have the wild private passion, too. Right?"

"I don't know. You're probably right."

"So what are we going to do, Angela?"  
"I think we're going to let Anthony and Ingrid finish out this weekend. And then we'll do our best to go on with our lives. Maybe not exactly as we were. But still as close friends who have all we had."

He nods. "I'd like that. Both parts. The home part and the cabin part. And it's only one weekend a year, right? We're entitled."

I laugh and then we kiss. It's soft and friendly at first, then it goes on, getting deeper. We stroke each other's hair, mine still wet from the shower but drying in the sun, his already wavy and surprisingly soft. He's got a little morning stubble, although he shaved last night. It's sexy and domestic at the same time.

We hear a twig snap and jump apart guiltily. It's just a nice older couple who smile at us and keep walking.

"What?" Tony whispers. "You thought it was Grover leading Mona and the kids on a rescue mission?"

I laugh and shake my head. "Come on. We should go back to the cabin. I'm sure Anthony and Ingrid are waking up now."

"Oh, I know Anthony is waking up." The way he says it, I have to glance down at his crotch. Mmm, Anthony is filling out his jeans nicely. But I think he'd be more comfortable out of his jeans.

We get back to our cabin in record time. It is no casual stroll. We didn't bother to lock up but everything is fine, it's safe. No fumbling for keys, just fumbling at T-shirts and zippers, like we're two hormone-crazed teenagers. Well, older teens than Anthony & Ingrid were when they first kissed. Well, he was only eleven. And now he is a full grown thirty-four-year-old. Very full grown.

We don't even get our clothes fully off before he has his hands on the waistband of my panties!

"I want you standing up! OK, Ingrid?"

The sane part of my brain makes me remind him, "Condoms, Anthony!"

"OK, yeah, where are they?" He lets go of me and scrambles around, looking for them.

"Um, they might be inside the sofa bed."

He curses in Italian but he tears the sofa bed apart. I can't help laughing at how ridiculous this is.

"Are you laughing at me? Now, Ingrid?"

"Not at you, at the situation."

He looks annoyed and then he chuckles. "OK, maybe we are not built for spontaneity."

"Next time, we'll have to set it up for spontaneity."

He shakes his head. "You've got a bit of Angela inside you, Ingrid."

"Well, let's get a bit of Anthony in me."

"A bit?"

"Well, more than a bit."

I join him on the bed, find the condoms under the sheet, and put one on him. When our bodies reunite, we're horizontal again, rather than vertical. He's much less frantic now, as if it soothes him to move inside me, as if this is what this hot-blooded Italian man needs, like the way my touching his arm can calm him down. And every slow stroke he gives me is comfort, food for my soul.

"Home," he murmurs.

"Home?"

"Uh, yeah, this cabin is homey."

"Right."

This is not what I expected when we raced back to the cabin, this slow, leisurely, almost dreamlike sex. As if there is no need to rush, as if we will do this forever.

Even when I reach orgasm, it's like coming in my sleep from a sweet, sexy dream. It's drifting in a boat rather than being at the center of an explosion. It's as different from last night as, well, night and day, but it's like this is the nighttime.

He smiles at me with his bedroom eyes. "This is nice. I mean more than nice. I've never had it like this before."

"Neither have I."

"But I don't know if I can come like this. I may have to keep making love to you into eternity."

"We've only got the cabin for the weekend."

"Good point." And then he speeds up, startling me, but my body responds in great, shuddering orgasms to his quick thrusts.

"Mmm, yeah, Ingruh—you're so guh—Can't get enuh—I luh!"

It's like he's become one giant schwa, lapsing into uhs that I answer with ohs. Big O's. Oaten O's. Oh my God, I have a brilliant campaign inspiration for Cheerios! But you could only run the ads on the Playboy Channel.

I start laughing and he looks down at me. "It's not you," I say quickly.

"Don't be laughing at me now, Ingrid!"

"I'm not. I'm just giddy."

"Oh, I get it. Your brain is melting."

"A little."

"Mine, too." Then he pushes pushes pushes, not like the slow, exploratory thrusts of our dream-time but like he's not a bit soothed anymore and he needs release. I'm as open as I can be for him and he dives in again and again. He's so fast, what would've been much too fast earlier, but is now just blissfully dizzying.

"I love y—I love this!"

My thoughts are no longer cohesive. Coherent, sorry. I can't overanalyze Tony's, sorry, Anthony's slip. I just say, "Me, too!" and collapse onto the bed, no longer arching my back, a moment before he collapses onto me.

"Sorry, Ang—Ingrid."

"No, I like having you there."

"OK, then I'll stay awhile. Till lunchtime."

"What are we having?"

"Sandwiches. Since you didn't want toast."

And then we laugh our silly heads off, our bodies rocking together in a completely different way than a few minutes ago.

I'm so glad we've still got lunch and other things to look forward to. And I'll try not to think beyond 11 a.m. tomorrow.


	5. Not So Exclusive

"Well, here we are again." It's not the most brilliant thing I could say, but the thing is, there was a time last winter when I thought I'd never get another summer night, or summer day, with Ingrid.

When we drove away from this cabin almost a year ago, she said, "That was nice."

"Yeah, it was. Nice cabin. Very nice cabin."

"Yes. Maybe, maybe we should go back some time."

"Well, yeah, maybe for another anniversary."  
"I'd like that."

"Well, there's one every year. So, uh, if you—sorry, if Ingrid is free, maybe she can meet up with Anthony again."

"I think she'll be free. She usually doesn't teach summer classes."

"Good. Anthony can probably get time off from the restaurant."

We snuck looks at each other and grinned. But, honestly? That's the last time we talked about it for a long while. And in between, a lot of things, happened, one of them starting with a G.

Don't get me wrong, me losing Angela her job at Wallace and McQuade didn't exactly help us find our way back to the cabin either. But I did my best to comfort her and build up her confidence again, and look at her now, with her own agency and she doesn't have to deal with jerks like Jim Peterson anymore.

We were getting closer, and not just because of Anthony & Ingrid. Me and Angela were close, like family. And then, well, I guess it got a little too close for comfort. We stood up for her friends the doctors at their wedding, best man and matron of honor. And I, Jesus, I never would've expected this a couple years earlier, but I imagined marrying Angela!

I mean, why not? I imagined marrying Gina for about a day, before I realized that I couldn't talk with her, have fun with her. And sometimes I feel like I am married to Angela, except for the part that we only have as Anthony & Ingrid. We do talk together, have fun together, but there are the serious parts, too. And the domestic parts, not just because I'm her "domestic."

I got scared. And my pride was hurt. The wedding was great in some ways, but it also made me see how people see us. Women don't marry their servants, especially not successful, educated career women like Angela.

So I practically threw her at Geoffrey with a G. And I kicked myself later, because I could've had her back before they even went on their first date. We were sitting on the couch the evening after the wedding. Sam was at a slumber party, sort of a daughter-of-the-groom thing that Julia was throwing Marci. Jonathan was out like a light up in his room. Well, weddings can take it out of you, although at least this time he didn't throw up on the bride's shoes.

Angela had danced too much, with Geoffrey. She was rubbing one of her aching feet and then I took over. I'd never massaged her before. I mean, yeah, I'd touched her as Ingrid, but that was foreplay. This was us, two close friends who'd had a close call.

And I tried to return to that good, safe platonic friendship I'd almost slipped away from that day. I encouraged her to see Geoffrey, to date other people. I wasn't expecting it to lead where it led!

And as for the foot massage, I had her leg across my legs and I was rubbing her foot with both hands. Then she sighed and said, "Oh, Tony, you're so good!" And I stopped dead cold. That was Ingrid! In our living room! We looked at each other and I returned Ingrid's leg to Angela. We smiled sheepishly at each other and I silently promised myself I could not let that woman invade our home again.

The best way to keep her out was to not be Anthony, not even for a second. Well, easier said than done. Oh, yeah, I told myself I just wanted to get Angela a special Christmas gift because she was such a good friend. I mean, she had a boyfriend! And this was not one of the guys she saw for a few days or a few weeks and then he disappeared out of our lives. Geoffrey stuck around, and around, and around.

This was worse than having Ingrid around. I mean, Ingrid's trouble, but it's fun trouble. She's great in the right time and place. There was never a right time and place for Geoffrey.

And, OK, yeah, I'll admit it, I was jealous. But let me say this. Angela's happiness means a lot to me. If I really, genuinely, truly thought Geoff was right for her, then I would've let go. And it would've been completely letting go, because even though Geoff liked me a lot more than Michael did, he wouldn't have wanted me staying on as housekeeper.

Or I don't know. Maybe he would've. Maybe he was so dense that he wouldn't have seen me as a rival, as Michael did right off the bat, back when Angela and I were just friends, and not all that close yet. Michael saw things that didn't exist yet. He saw the potential. Geoffrey couldn't even see what was right in front of him.

And like a sap, I got him back together with Angela when they had a fight. I mean, I supported her getting back with Michael, too. I'm not the kind of guy who schemes to break up Angela's relationships. It's not like no one else can have her, just because I mostly can't.

And then Geoff proposed to her. And she was as un-Ingrid about it as you can imagine, with her little list of pros and cons. I know, and you don't want to know how I know—OK, it involves a glass to a wall—that she did it with Geoff, but the little I heard, Ingrid was not in the room. I bet Geoffrey never met Ingrid and would never have met her, even if he was married to Angela for fifty years.

But me and Ing, we go way back. And I realized, with some nudging from Mona, that I had to stop this. Geoffrey would take away Angela. Because let's face it, I may still have been able to make her favorite chocolate cakes and martinis, but there would no more old movies on the tube together, and no more being a dad to Jonathan, or not in the same way, or getting through Sam's puberty with Angela's help, or any of that. No more talking and laughing like we had, because she'd be talking and laughing with Geoffrey.

And, yeah, he'd take away Ingrid, too. Or send her into permanent hibernation. Not only wouldn't I see glimpses of her in the house, but I'd never again get to celebrate that anniversary. And I thought that the two women, Angela and Ingrid, were worth fighting for.

I didn't date much during the Geoffrey era. (Tanya doesn't count. She was just for sex.) I guess I was holding my breath. After it was over, I went out with a much younger woman. (Well, twelve years younger.) It was fun, but during that time, I saw sort of a Bizarro version of Ingrid come out in Angela. She was trying to act half her age, and I wanted to remind her that I know her age. I know that little two-year gap. So I asked her how old she was, to make her say it out loud, in our living room, "You should know, Anthony." And she wouldn't.

Still, one good thing came out of that. Well, two. One was she showed off her legs. Unfortunately, it wasn't just to me, but I did have to admit out loud how great they are. Maybe if I complimented them more, she'd show them more, if not to that extent. The other good thing was we went dancing. And, oh, we looked good together on the dance floor! I know because I caught a glimpse of our reflection in the window, and because I could see the smiles on the people watching us. We owned that dance floor!

A lot of guys don't like dancing. They think it's girly or they think they're no good at it. Well, I don't worry about seeming girly. I mean, you can't get more secure in your manhood than I am. And, not to brag, but I'm a good dancer.

And Angela, wow! We'd danced together before, but we were kind of shy and awkward those times. I don't know if it's that we'd, you know, Ingrided, but we just moved like we were one body. But at the same time, there were little surprises, like _If I spin her like this, where will she land? If I beckon to her, will she come back to me? Oh yeah, she will, like she knows this is where she needs to be, back into my arms._

It wasn't a Betty dance, but it was very sexy. Classy-sexy, Angela-sexy. The line between Angela and Ingrid blurred for me again, but I loved it.

And then when she decided to get kind of Ingridy and live out unexplored adolescent fantasies, well, part of me was rooting her on, and part of me was scared for her, because she was still Angela, innocent Angela, and she got in a little over her head.

She didn't need some sleazy guy named The Snake, whose "Inspiration Point" was a beat-up sofa. So I took her to my Inspiration Point, with a beautiful hill-top view. And when she wanted to make out at the Point, cross that off her list (her and her lists!), well, I gave her a sweet, slow, but deep kiss. Yeah, I wanted to suggest we hop in the back of my van and get a little more Ingridy. But I knew that that should wait for the summer, if we didn't have any more derailments in the meantime.

It was getting harder and harder to keep Anthony & Ingrid where they belonged. Hell, I even moved out of the house to keep Anthony away from her! OK, it was just across the driveway, to Mona's apartment, but I felt like I'd lost my home. I needed to be there with her, sleep under the same roof, even if it drives me crazy sometimes. And she missed me. She didn't say so in so many words, but I could tell. And then things didn't work out for Mona at her brother's hotel, so oh darn. I was "stuck" in that house.

The funny thing was, I'd tried to be a swinging bachelor and I ended up watching _Little House on the Prairie,_ by myself. It was like I took the Anthony out of myself. Better to risk running into Anthony  & Ingrid around the house than not see them at all. That's what I learned this past year.

And we could've gone somewhere else, maybe celebrate our anniversary in a different location every year, for however long this goes on. But I needed to be in the same cabin with her, try to recapture what we had last summer. Well, maybe with some improvements.

"Uh, Tony, I'll be out of town for that Lincoln account again, weekend after next," she said one evening a couple weeks ago.

"Oh, yeah. The Lincoln account."

"Do they make logs?" Jonathan asked. The boy is eleven now but let's put it this way, much more of a little kid than I was at his age. (Angela would have a fit if some thirteen-year-old gave Jonathan his first kiss.)

"Uh, no, Sweetheart. It's a construction company."

"Oh." He immediately lost interest.

"Dad, that reminds me. That's the weekend of Bonnie's slumber party. Can I go?"

"Of course, Sweetheart." That would make getting away much easier for me.

"Angela, didn't the Lincoln account belong to Wallace and McQuade?"

"Why, yes, yes, it did, Mother, but I wooed them away."

"You are a pretty good little wooer," I said and then almost bit my tongue.

"Why, thank you, Tony."  
"Gee, it's funny, I'm your secretary, Dear, and I don't seem to remember us having the Lincoln account."  
"Well, no, you wouldn't, Mother, because I haven't completely won them back. That's what this business trip is about. To finalize the deal."

"Well, I'm sure it'll work out, Dear. Once you set your mind on something, you generally get it."

"Thank you, Mother."

So, yeah, not as smooth as last year, but obviously we made our escape. Jonathan's in California again, Sam's at Bonnie's, and Mona, when I ran off to "Brooklyn" again, said she was happy to house-sit for a couple days, as long as she could have her boyfriend over. I didn't know what Angela would say to that, but I gave Mona my blessing.

And here we are again. I'm pulling the van into the parking lot and Angela, soon to be re-Ingrided, is sitting beside me.

"I'm glad both Anthony and Ingrid were able to get away this weekend."

"What, you kiddin' me? Anthony wouldn't miss one of their anniversaries!"

"Ingrid was worried she wouldn't make it. She had, uh, other commitments. But they fell through."

"Anthony will be very happy to hear that," I say as I park the van.  
We look at each other and smile. I hesitate and then give her a kiss like I did after rescuing her from Jake the Snake.

When it ends, she says, "Hm, I wonder if there's an Inspiration Point around here."

"We can go looking for one tomorrow." I have other plans for her tonight. I mean besides what you're thinkin'!

I grab the bags. We sign in. We head towards the cabin. She unlocks the door. It's like last year. Except that last year there wasn't a last year like we have now, if that makes sense. I mean, it's like we've got a tradition now. I don't know about her, but I'm already wondering about next year, and this anniversary has barely started. I mean, not that we'll be doing this indefinitely, till we're old and gray. At some point, Jonathan will be all grown up and maybe Angela won't need a housekeeper anymore, or she will but it'll be different without the kids around. But that's a long way off, too hazy a future to think about. And we might get bored with this, with each other, although I hope not any time soon.

"Do you want the bathroom first?" she asks.

"Yeah, if you don't."  
"Go ahead."

At what point does de ja vu stop being eerie or comforting and start being stale? Well, we're not at that point yet.

For one thing, I don't just pee and shave. I change into a tux, the same tux I wore when I "took her legs out" one night.

Her eyes pop open when I return. "Tony! I mean Anthony. You look wonderful!"

"Thank you, Ingrid."

"But we're too far from anywhere to dine or dance. Well, unless you want to try the Chez When Cocktail Lounge a few miles back."

"I don't think we'll have to go that far. You go change and I'll escort you to a very nice establishment close by."

"Ton—Anthony, I didn't pack anything appropriate."

"Whatever you wear will be appropriate."

"Well, all right." She grabs her bag and goes into the bathroom.

While she's gone, I take things out of Tupperware and reheat them on the wood stove. I get everything set up, including the tape player. When the bathroom door opens, Sinatra starts serenading her with "The Way You Look Tonight."

But the way she looks tonight! Her hair is upswept and normally I'd be ogling her neck, but, Jesus! She's wearing a blue negligee, one of those rich, I guess sapphire blues that look so good on her. But the negligee could be plaid for all I care right now.

"Um, it's the only thing I packed that has a skirt."

"OK." My voice gets a little shaky. Talk about "feelin' a glow," Frankie! I want to forget about dancing and dining, but I did promise. No, it can't ever get stale, if she keeps surprising me like this.

"Can I take your legs out now?" God, they look good, and they seem to go on forever, the negligee is so short. "You can come, too."

"Dancing before dining?"

"Yeah, we'll work up an appetite." I make the beckoning gesture and she strides towards me and into my arms.

I hold her close. I don't care that she can probably feel how hard she's made me. Well, I want her to know, but it'll keep. We sway together, except when I spin her and dip her. The negligee reveals even more of her skin and I swear I'm going to go crazy any minute.

"I wonder if our table's ready."

"Uh, yeah, there's the maître d' signaling to us." We pretend to push our way off the crowded dance floor.

"I remember this place before it was so popular."

"Yeah, it's not so exclusive anymore," I say, helping her onto the couch as if I'm holding out her chair. "Oh, thank you, Henri, that would be perfect. Yes, Madame, does look lovely tonight. With her smile so warm. And her cheeks so soft."

Angela looks down and smiles. "Should we order?"

"I hope you don't mind, I already took the liberty of ordering before you got here."

"I'm sure I'll like whatever you chose. You know what I like as well as I do."

"Better. Why, yes, Henri, that sounds like an excellent choice." I pull the cooler out from under the sofa bed and take out a couple bottles of Bud Light. "It's the house wine."

"Yummy. But I think I'll just have water."

"Yeah, me, too. I'm driving tonight."

"Yes, you need a clear head."  
If there's one thing my head isn't right now, it's clear, but I toss the bottles back in the cooler and go get us some water. The food is done so I put it on paper plates and try to bring everything over at once.  
"Do you need some help?"

"No, that's OK."

"Ingrid never drops plates."

"Oh, all right."

She comes over and saves me a trip back and forth. We settle on the couch again, and start eating macaroni. OK, so it's not a super fancy meal either, but it's the kind of thing that travels and reheats well.

"Very nice," she says.

"Yeah, it's the house specialty."

"I can see why this place is so popular."

"Yeah, but I was hoping for a little more privacy."

"We'll have that later."

"I hope so. Happy Anniversary, Ingrid."

"Happy Anniversary, Anthony." We clink our plastic cups. "Oh, I just realized, it's our twenty-fourth!"

"Yeah? We'll have to do something special for the twenty-fifth. I mean extra special."

"This is very special tonight. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I just figured last year was better than the year before, and I wanted to see if we could top it."

"I think we can."

"So do I." Our eyes meet and then we kiss. Nothing too intense. After all, we are in a restaurant.

After dinner, I escort her off the couch and around the cabin and back to the couch. Now it's a car, a nice car. I know because she says, "Nice car, Anthony."

"Thank you. I think the French do some things particularly well. Cars, wine, cheese—"

"Kissing," she says mischievously.

"Yeah, French kisses are good." Well, you can guess what happens next, pretty much what happened in my van at Inspiration Point. But you probably can't guess what happens after that.

After we stop, she says, "Of course, I think Italians are particularly good at French kissing."

"All those Italians you've kissed."

"Yes. I guess that would be an Italian kiss though, wouldn't it?"

I stare at her. I know she didn't mean it like that, not innocent Angela and not even naughty Ingrid. But Jesus!

"What?"

"Ang—Ingrid, there's a certain meaning that 'Italian kiss' can have."

"Oh, like when you kiss someone on both cheeks?"

"No, I mean the street meaning."  
"There's a street meaning?"

"Never mind." I start the "car."

"Anthony, tell me."

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do."

We could argue "all the way home," but instead I "pull the car to the side of the road." "Do you want me to show you?"

She looks a little nervous. "Well, is it something I'd like?"

"I already know you like it."

"Well, then, what's the big deal, Anthony?"

"The big deal is it's French plus." I kiss her sweet lips and she opens them to receive my tongue.

After we kiss about a minute, she stops and says, "Plus what?"

"Plus this." And I move one hand under her negligee and into her panties (pale blue again). And I finger her while I French-kiss her.

And she loves it! She comes right away and then she still wants more. And it really does feel like we're parking and doing third base, even though we're in the safety of our cabin. When I try to take her panties off, she whispers, "No, do it just like that! Like we're getting away with something!"

The funny thing is, we are! I'm fingering my boss and soon she's going to have sex with her housekeeper, just like last year. And no one knows!


	6. Schizophrenia

I wonder if Mother knows. She seemed awfully suspicious about the Lincoln account. I'm going to have to come up with a plausible lie for why I didn't get this nonexistent client. This wasn't a problem last year, when Mother wasn't working for me. I'll have to think of a better excuse for a business trip next year, if there is a next year. Well, I hope there will be. It'd be such a shame if Anthony & Ingrid didn't get to celebrate their twenty-fifth.

As for our twenty-fourth, well! Despite Anthony's admirable attempts to give Ingrid a classy, romantic evening (Bud Light aside), that little trollop quickly brought things down to the lowest common denominator. First she wore that scanty little blue dress and then she enticed Anthony into third base by the side of the road! And that poor man is helpless around her, a victim of her wiles and his hormones.

"What are you grinnin' about?" Tony asks me now, and I know it's Tony rather than Anthony, because he's one inch from calling me "An-gel-a."

"It's such a lovely view," I respond innocently.

"Yeah," he says skeptically. But then he looks through the windshield of his van and out at the trees and the mountains, and the river rushing below, and says "yeah" more sincerely. And then he looks at me and says, "Beautiful."

"Do you think it's the local Inspiration Point or should we keep looking?"

"Works for me. You like it?"  
"Yes. I like it a lot." But I'm not talking about the view. Or not the view outside the van anyway.

He was so sweet a few months ago, helping me finish my wish list of things I never got to do as a teenager. I obviously carefully avoided putting anything like "a reunion with Anthony." After all, Mother saw the list, and anyway that was something I accomplished a couple years ago, even if we keep having annual reunions now.

After he showed me a very naughty version of an "Italian kiss" last night (and I have no idea if such a thing exists or if it was just something he made up on the spot, but frankly I don't care because it was deliciously naughty), he "drove me home." That is, the couch became the bed, the same sofa bed conversion that converted us, or Ingrid & Anthony I should say, from third-basers to home-runners one year ago.

No, it wasn't easy to go home (our real home I mean) last summer, to lie about my business trip, to pretend that Tony had never been inside me, or even close to it. But we didn't lose each other as friends. Maybe this other pretense, that we are Ingrid & Anthony a night or two a year, functions as some sort of safety valve, relieving what might otherwise be unbearable tension. I don't know.

But I think it also started us down paths that we hadn't intended. For a romantic like me, even a disappointed one, going to a wedding is bound to set thoughts in a certain direction, although my own two weddings (the Vegas quickie and the big spectacular that Nanna paid for), did not lead to eternal bliss. Seeing Tony across the aisle from me, looking so handsome in his tuxedo, made me imagine what our own wedding would be like.

But then the next thing I knew I was in a serious relationship with a stranger. I mean Geoffrey was initially a stranger. And I never felt like I got to know him well later. He certainly didn't know or understand me. Not the way Tony does. Yet I came close to marrying Geoffrey.

He didn't find my inner Ingrid. But marriages can be about other things. And really, would a woman like Ingrid survive marriage? Maybe to somebody like Anthony, but you can't found a marriage on an annual naughty weekend. Especially when it might hurt Tony & Angela, two good, caring, honorable people. Not to mention their wonderful children.

I know, I sound schizophrenic. Sometimes I think that this secret keeps us sane and sometimes I think it's madness, even if it's a happy madness.

So if Mother knows, or at least suspects, will that change things? After all, she's always trying to get me and Tony together. Would she happy for Anthony & Ingrid, or would she be annoyed that we can't bring them into our everyday lives?

You know what it's like? It's a little like Tony is my husband and Anthony is my lover. And it's the same for Tony with me and Ingrid. Only we're not cheating because we have an understanding. OK, and because we're really two people, not four.

Except when we're one. How is it that a man who is my opposite in so many ways fits with me so well, fits into me so well? I don't just mean sex. I also mean dancing and the way we talk to each other. The way we sometimes laugh about the same things. It's like our brains interlock, too.

"So, uh, you think Mike Ott is gonna show up?"

I'm startled out of my thoughts. "Who?"

"You know, Mike Ott. At Inspiration Point."

"Oh. He might. He seems to like Inspiration Point. All the Inspiration Points."  
"Yeah." Then he reaches into his pocket and brings out a list.

"What's this?"  
"Plans for this weekend." He hands it to me.

"It looks like you've already crossed off a few." I see _"dance to Sinatra," "wine & dine," "make love to Ingrid."_ All with lines through them. Except "make love to Ingrid" appears more than once. "So you can cross off 'Find local Inspiration Point.' "

"Yeah."

"What's this next one? 'Bess Thor at Inspiration Point'? Who's Bess Thor?"  
"No, that's 'Base, Third.' "

"Oh. That's more specific than my list was."

"Well, you know, 'make out' is such a vague term."

"And you're very good at defining your terms," I say, hoping that he's planning to kiss me Italian style in his van.

"Well, I try to be."

"Anthony, why Bess Thor? Why not Bess Forest or Bess Sacred? Or even Ham Plot?"

He chuckles. "Ham plot."

"Why third base?"

"Oh, well, this is sort of embarrassing."

"You can tell me. I don't know anyone you know."

"Well, you know me. You knew me way back."

"Yes."  
"I got this van about five years after we met. I'd just got my license and I fantasized about a really cool car. Something James Bond would drive. Or the Batmobile."

I try not to laugh. "The Batmobile?"

"You know, something sporty with a lot of features. Something to drive to go fight the bad guys."

"Or to pick up chicks in?"

"Well, yeah. But I couldn't afford anything fancy, or even all that nice. But there was something about this van that drew me to it."

"The price?"

"Well, that didn't hurt. It wasn't that new even then, but I enjoyed working on it. And, yeah, I could pick up chicks in it. Especially Pitkin Avenue girls, who weren't too fussy. There was one named Tanya."

"Oh, Tanya?" Obviously the same one I met when I was seeing Geoffrey.

"Uh, yeah. I lost, um, well."

"You lost her as a friend?"

"Well, we were never exactly friends. Anyway, it happened in the back of this van. But on the way there, in the middle of third base actually, I thought of Ingrid."

"Oh!"

"I mean, it's not like I called out Ingrid's name or nothin'. But I started thinking of what a great kisser she was and wondering what if it would be like if I was with her instead of Tanya."

"Poor Tanya."

He gives me a look like he doubts my sincerity, but he continues. "Well, I don't think she knew. She was just happy I was so turned on. And I managed to focus on her before going on to, um, ham plot."

"Good." Imagine if that had been me instead of Tanya! This was even pre-Brian-Thomas. My post-Anthony romantic life had been a series of disappointments. Not very many dates and nearly all of them terrible. But it was extremely unlikely that I at 18 would've ever made out in a van with some guy from Brooklyn, even if he was Anthony.

"So, yeah, that's what I was thinkin' of."

"I see." I hesitate and then I say, "This is a really nice van, Anthony."

"You like it, Ingrid? It's nothin' special."

"It's, it's lovely. Especially for your first car."

"Well, yeah, it's—" I watch his eyes and see his mind click. "It's no Aston Martin, but I like it."

"Well, it's roomier."

"Yeah."

"So we're 18 now," I say abruptly, just in case he doesn't get what I'm doing.

"Uh, that's right." It's a bit of a trap, because he can't admit that he was really 16, since he didn't tell Ingrid about the age gap till he was 33. Of course, this means Ingrid is corrupting a minor in this fantasy, but it's not like he was more innocent than she was.

"And, well, since we're adults, no one can tell us what to do. So I decided I had to find you again, see you again, find out if your kisses are as good as I remember."

"I'm glad you found me. I didn't like being lost."

And then we kiss, as if we haven't in five years but have been thinking about it all that time.

"Mmm, better than I remember."

I nod. "You've clearly been practicing."

"Well, it was all for you. So I could be better for you."

"How sweet," I say, and I'm half tempted to make up an active love life for Ingrid, but she was shy and awkward at 13, so I don't know how to make it plausible. "What else have you been practicing?"

"Well, this." He kisses my neck and then reaches under my T-shirt for my bra. It's like a polished version of how teenaged Tony likely made out. Probably the real 16-year-old Anthony would've been too rough and wild for Ingrid. Well, too much for me anyway. Ingrid seems to like it.

He cups my breasts and says, "These turned out even better than your teeth."

I grin at a compliment that would've made me blush or fume nineteen years ago. "Thank you."

We neck as he feels me up above the waist. I never reached second base before Brian came along. But Brian played footsies with me and then suddenly Ingrid woke up like she'd been hibernating through most of my teens and thought, _Anthony, is that you? Oh, Brian. Mmm, Brian, Brian Thomas!_

Anthony licks my teeth. He licks my breasts. Ingrid is making out with a Brooklyn boy in a van!

Tony is having absolutely no trouble acting like a hormonally crazed teenaged boy. I put my hand lightly on his crotch at one point and he responds like he's never had a girl touch him there before but he's been waiting for it for a long time. Waiting for Ingrid? Maybe.

"Please, please, Ingrid, touch me!"

"Anthony, I've never—I've never even seen one!" Because I hadn't at 18. Hell, I still hadn't when I finished grad school. Brian and I never got to third base and not many men after him took me even to second, not till Michael came along.

"You can see mine. Uh, if you want to."

I nod. "I want to."

So he quickly undoes his jeans and yanks down his jockey shorts.

"Big," I murmur.

"Don't be scared, Ingrid. He won't hurt you. He likes you."

"He hasn't even met me."

"Well, I've told him about you. And he wants to meet you. Really really bad."

"Should I shake hands with him?"

He grins. "Yeah." He takes my right hand and puts it back on his crotch. "Ingrid, this is, well, my friend. Friend, this is that girl I been tellin' you about. See, she grew up to be real cute."

I don't point out how plain I was at 18. Maybe Ingrid didn't have as many awkward years as Angela did.

He has me wrap my hand around him and shake. "Mmm, nice firm handshake."

"Thank you."

"You can let go now if you want."

"I don't want to."

So there in the front seat of Anthony's van, I give him my version of an Italian kiss, my tongue teasing his mouth and his sensitive neck as I masturbate him. It's sort of like what I did to him two years ago, but at that time I wasn't ready to have him inside me. Third base, or whatever you want to call it, when you have had sex and know that you're going to have it again, is, if anything, hotter. Now you know what this person is capable of. Except of course, in this fantasy within a fantasy, Anthony has never been had by Ingrid or anyone yet.

"Oh God, Ingrid! I'm so glad you found me!"

I almost laugh. I can hear the Tony underneath the layers of fantasy. It is Tony's penis after all, even if I only know it in our Ingrid & Anthony trysts. He's at least seen Angela, not just Ingrid, naked. While I've only seen Tony in bits and pieces, those muscular arms, chest, back, legs—

"Oh, Anthony!"

He's squeezing my breasts as we neck, as I fondle him, one hand on his chest, the other still working away below. I love it when he's inside me, but we seem to have a lot of fun outside, too.

After he comes, he says, "Sorry I didn't reciprocate."

"Well, it's not easy to do much in a front seat."

"Yeah. You, uh, you wanna go in the back of the van for some reciprocation?"

"It's not on your list."

"You didn't read the back," he whispers in my ear, making me happily shudder.

An hour later, in the back of his makeout van, as I lie on 1960s tangerine pillows on top of a saffron shag rug (and I'm going to guess he redecorated for the weekend since I never noticed these before), he finishes Italian-kissing me and reaches for a box of condoms. "This is the brand I used almost twenty years ago."

"Do you still like them?"  
"I haven't tried them since. I mean not this brand. But as long as we're trippin' back in time, why not?"

I put one on him and then he enters me. I don't know if this is sixteen-year-old Anthony losing his virginity to the first girl he kissed, or grown-up Anthony the chef with the secret annual trysts, or my Tony who's penetrating me. I don't know if I'm nervous eighteen-year-old Ingrid, or Ingrid the professor who's been with a few men in the last twenty years, or if it's me, Angela Robinson Bower, the Gemini who's split in two and trying to find wholeness.

But it's good. Oh, is it good! And maybe schizophrenia isn't healthy but if it makes us happy, who cares?


	7. Playing Dirty

"There it is, Tony. It's the Rock." I don't say it with the same sense of wonder I did three years ago. We know its secret now, that it was me. It was us.

"Yeah. I think it was easier to find this time. Since it didn't take us as long to return."

"Well, that and we didn't come completely on foot."

"Angela, are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes, Tony. We agreed. We have to honor our, I mean their, twenty-fifth anniversary."

Of course, we made that agreement before I admitted to myself that I love Tony. And before I called his name in my sleep, for the whole family to hear!

I came so close to telling him, consciously, deliberately, this past year. But I just couldn't. I just can't. Even though I almost lost him.

He was with Frankie a much shorter time than I was with Geoffrey, just one weekend. But they go way back, almost as far as Anthony and Ingrid. And she felt she knew him well enough to propose marriage.

He said no. Because he didn't love her. "And love is important."

How could I have imagined, even for a moment, marrying Geoffrey? It seems insane in retrospect, and not the good kind of insanity, like Anthony & Ingrid.

Does Ingrid love Anthony? Oh, not like I love Tony. How could she? But she's grown very fond of him. They're not supposed to love each other, right?

Are Tony and I supposed to? He truly has become my not-quite-platonic husband, buying "flowers for the house," worrying if I don't call when I have to work late. I realized that when we matchmade my cousin Christy, who got married on the second or third date. Why is it so easy for other people?

Would it have been easier if we hadn't separated out Ingrid & Anthony? Well, he would still be my housekeeper. We would still fear losing each other as friends. We would still worry about breaking up the family if we broke up.

I would still fear giving myself completely to someone again, body and soul, heart and mind. So I do my best to contain my feelings about Tony, try my damnedest to only be sexual with him when we're having an anniversary tryst.

But what about my heart? I can love Tony as long as it's silently. But then one night, all right, two nights, right before my last birthday, I dreamed of our next anniversary, being with him. And it wasn't Anthony's name I cried for the entire household to hear.

I was so humiliated! But Tony was very sweet about it. He's my best friend, he really is. We talked about it without quite talking about it. He admitted that he remembered saying he loved me, two years ago, when he had his appendix out.

And then a month later, a month ago from today, he said, "So, uh, Angela, you've got that conference coming up next month, right?"  
"Conference? Oh, right, the conference! In, uh, Dubuque."

He smiled. "Yeah. How long you gonna be gone for?"

"Oh, just over the weekend."

"OK. Maybe I'll head to the old neighborhood that weekend. If Mona doesn't mind keeping an eye on Sam."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." We were alone but obviously we were self-conscious about being overheard. We couldn't talk openly till our anniversary, and maybe not even then.

"Or you know, I was thinkin' of goin' campin' with a buddy."  
"A buddy?"

"Yeah, a good friend. Well, it'd have to be a good friend, since I've just got that two-man tent."

The tent that blew away when he camped on the billboard to raise money for the schools. He found it after we climbed back down. Yes, I spent the night up there, despite my fear of heights. And, no, we didn't fool around. We just huddled for warmth in a two-man sleeping bag, my head on his shoulder. We were fully dressed and it just wasn't Anthony & Ingrid time, particularly not with all the media coverage he'd had for the publicity stunt.

I almost lost him that day, too, to Washington, DC, rather than to a beautiful Italian lawyer who drinks beer out of the bottle. But he decided to stay. And even when he heard me cry, "Tony, I love you!" a few months later, he didn't leave me. But I still worry that someday he will. Maybe because I'll never have told him I love him. Or maybe because I will have.

"Where are you thinking of camping? With your buddy?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe near my old Y camp. It's real pretty up there. With the trees and the lake and everything."

"Yes, it's nice up there."

"Oh, that's right. You went to camp nearby, didn't you?"

"Yes, in the general area."

"Well, maybe I'll send you a postcard."

"I'd like that. Maybe I'll send you one from Dubuque."

And we grinned at each other.

But then Sam came downstairs to the living room and asked for privacy to call Jesse. Sometimes I wonder why it's so easy for Sam. She "falls in love" with one boyfriend after another, although this thing with Jesse seems more serious than the other boys.

Ingrid never got to go steady. The boy she liked best didn't live in her neighborhood, didn't even live in the same world.

And yet, their paths keep crossing. Even if they haven't observed every anniversary, it is still their twenty-fifth this year.

Tony and I went in the kitchen, which was luckily empty.

"So what are you going to eat on your camping trip? It sounds like you won't even have a stove or a sink."

"Yeah, it'll be roughing it. But we'll get a fire going. I can roast things on sticks."

"Sounds nice." I wasn't being sarcastic.

"Yeah. Any nice restaurants in Dubuque?"  
"I don't know. I've never been to Idaho—I mean Iowa before."

"Well, maybe—"

Sam interrupted us again. "Dad, can I go over to Jesse's to watch a movie?"

"What movie?"

_"Dirty Dancing."_

"He's showing you porn?" Tony gasped.

I laughed. "Tony, it's a very sweet story about a rich girl who falls in love with a poor boy. Um, at camp."

"No, Angela," Sam corrected me, "it's a resort. I saw it when it came out last summer."

"Oh, right. I didn't see it. I just skimmed the reviews."

"Oh, you would love it! It's got these great oldies on the soundtrack because it's set the summer of '63."

"Oh. That was a great summer. For music I mean."

"Yeah, it was," Tony said dreamily. Then he snapped back into dad-mode again. "What's the rating?"

"Well, Siskel & Ebert gave it one thumb up and one thumb down but—"

"Come on, you know what I mean."  
She sighed. "The MPAA listing is PG-13." Sam is 15 now. And she was 14 last year.

"With that title?"

"Well, there's some close dancing."  
"Close ain't dirty."

I bit my tongue to keep from saying, "It depends how close it is."

"Besides, you're not much past 13. You still need parental guidance."

"Tony, considering she's already seen it—"

"Yeah, who took you to that, Samantha?"

"Mona did. We couldn't reach you in Brooklyn to see if it was all right."

Tony tried very hard not to look embarrassed.

"Tony, as I was saying, since she's already seen it, where's the harm in her seeing it again?"

"Yeah, Dad," Sam said and gave me a grateful glance.

"Where's the harm? It's one thing to see a romance with Mona and another to see it with her steady boyfriend."  
"Well, maybe as a compromise, they could watch it over here."

"Uh, with you guys around?" Sam said.

"We might look in on it," Tony said.

"I don't want to watch that movie with my pare—I mean my dad and my, uh, Angela."

"You watched it with Mona!"

"That's different."

"Either watch it over here or don't watch it at all."

She sighed. "OK, fine, I'll call Jesse back."

And that is how the four of us ended up sitting in the living room, watching Patrick Swayze grind up against Jennifer Grey. It's hard to say who was most embarrassed. But it was Tony who leapt off the couch and hit the eject button on the VCR with lightning speed. I think the rest of us expected him to ground Sam, maybe even forbid her to see Jesse again.

"Sam, you are not going to watch that movie here!"

"Dad, you're being—"

He shoved the videocassette into Jesse's hands. "Here take this movie home—"

"Sir, if you just—"

"And take Sam with you. You two watch it at your place."

Sam beamed. "Thanks, Dad!"

"Great, now we have to watch it with my parents," Jesse grumbled.

"See, Angela, I'm not the only overprotective parent."

"No, Dad, you are."

"You see, I have 'cool' parents."

"I'm cool!" Tony said defensively.

"Yes, you are, Sir. But I mean they're the kind that want to show how open-minded they are. And they'd start talking about the sociohistorical importance of that period, after Elvis and right before the Beatles, when teen sex was being explored in new and—"

"OK, you two watch the movie here and Angela and I will go make popcorn."  
"Thanks, Dad," Sam said, sounding more amused now.

I was amused, too, as I followed Tony into the kitchen. As he put the popcorn in the microwave, not exactly a task that requires assistance, I went over and whispered, "Why were you OK with them watching it alone? What happened to parental guidance?"

"An-gel-a. Don't you get it?" he whispered back.

"Get what?"  
"Yeah, it was weird and uncomfortable watching that with my daughter and her boyfriend, but that was nothing compared to watching it with you."

"Oh!" I was surprised, amused, and flattered.

"I mean, our summer of '63 was a hell of a lot more innocent than that, since we were a lot younger. But considering recent events, it was, well, I couldn't watch anymore."

"Oh, right, recent events." I didn't know if he meant my sleep-talk or the less recent but still significant events of the past couple summers.

"I mean, if you and I were to go someplace with electricity next month, then yeah, I'd love to watch that movie alone with you. But there is a time and a place for everything."  
"True." Then I felt naughty and I started to do a sultry dance.

"An-gel-a! What are you doing?"  
"Just dancing. It can't be dirty because I'm not touching you."

"I can't believe you're doing this with the kids in the next room!"

"That's not why it's bothering you."  
"You're right. It's bothering me because this is a respectable kitchen and you just invited Ingrid in."

I grinned. "Well, you could invite Anthony."

"Not in the house!"

I took pity on him and stopped dancing. "OK. But I hope the tape player has batteries, because I think you should take lots of oldies for your camping trip with your good buddy."

He looked like he wanted to grab me and become Anthony, but the microwave's beep reminded him of his parental duties.

"I'll get the caramel," I said.

I now say, "It feels right for Anthony and Ingrid to sleep where it all started."

"In that case, you'd better help me pitch the tent."


	8. Love Is Strange

By this point, Angela and I don't even bother with the pretense of the Fairfield train station. I mean, yeah, I say I'm dropping her off at the station on my way to my camping trip, but she doesn't actually take the train like she did the first time. We're not going to spend a single moment apart during an anniversary, especially not the big 2-5.

I almost gave this up. I almost made the same mistake that Angela almost made. Don't get me wrong, Frankie is a great girl, and it was tempting to finally have a serious girlfriend again, because I'm getting kinda old to do the dating around thing. But Frankie was too serious, marriage-serious. And I didn't love her. I don't think I could ever love her.

It wasn't like with Gina. I could kid around with Frankie, and she definitely didn't mind me being in her kitchen. But love?

Look, OK, I love Angela. I admitted that to the kids. She's family, like they are. Frankie isn't family. She's not part of my life like Angela is. Maybe she could've been, but I'd have had to give up Angela.

I admitted it to Angela, too, sort of. We agreed we have feelings. Mona was pressuring me to admit more. But I couldn't make the big leap, and I think Angela was sort of relieved I didn't.

That first night that she called my name in her sleep, hell, I was flattered. I'd just come back with a midnight snack and I heard Ingrid! Ingrid, in the house, upstairs, in Angela's bedroom. But she was calling for Tony, not Anthony. Except in an Ingridy voice.

And I thought, _Hell, it ain't like I never dream about her!_ Both of them, Angela and Ingrid. Separately I mean. I didn't plan to embarrass her or confront her. You can't help what you dream.

It was the second night that was the problem. I wasn't the only one who heard her. Not just the kids, but Mona, who was sleeping over. And this time Angela said she loves Tony. Well, I wouldn't judge her for that, considering my little appendix slip. But she was embarrassed about it.

I was afraid she wouldn't want to do our big anniversary, and I was really looking forward to it. So I decided to go out on a limb, suggest a camping trip for this year. Back to basics, at the Rock. She loved the idea.

So I "took her to the train station," meaning the parking spot closest to the woods where the Rock sits. And we lugged everything through the forest to the clearing. And now we've got the tent set up, and we're sitting roasting weenies as the tape plays "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah." OK, not that romantic, but it was a hit in that golden summer when this bashful blonde first strolled into my life.

We catch up on Ingrid and Anthony's lives (she's got tenure, he's got a new sous chef), and reminisce about camp.

Then she suddenly turns off the tape player and says, "Uh, Anthony, you don't think kids still meet up at the Rock, do you?"

"I doubt it. The dates by the names are pretty old. Nothing since the mid '70s."

"Maybe '80s boys aren't as romantic as you were."

"Yeah, or they're not as good at carving."

She laughs.

"I'm serious." I hold up my roasting stick. "Look at the whittling job I did on that!"

"Very impressive."

"Thanks."

"But what I really meant was, well, how much privacy do you think we'll have here? I mean, we're probably not even legally camping."

"This is what happens when you go out with one of those forbidden, illicit boys from the Y Camp."

"Ton—Anthony."

"Look, Ang—Ingrid. I kinda doubt we're the first people to spend a night here. I mean, that is Makeout Rock over there."

"Kissing Rock!"  
"Yeah, OK, whatever."

"I just don't want our anniversary to be spoiled with interruptions. Particularly by the local police."

"Well, don't give them your real name."

"Cute."

"Are you the same Ingrid who last year got turned on by the idea of being caught?"

"That was different, Anthony. I knew we wouldn't be."

"So what are you sayin'? You want to leave?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, good."

"I'm just a little nervous about this."

"Well, eat your weenie and relax." Then I blush. "I didn't mean—"

"Yum yum!" she says super cheerfully, like she's in a '60s commercial, for Dr. Pepper or somethin'.

After the weenie roast, we have marshmallows for dessert. It makes our kisses sticky but extra sweet.

And then I put the tape player back on and we dance. Not grinding, not dirty, but slow and close. It feels so good to have her in my arms like this.

Ruby and the Romantics sing about "My Summer Love." This isn't one of those songs you hear all the time on soundtracks. It's just a sweet, simple song.

Is Angela my summer love? Is Ingrid?

And then it's "So Much in Love" by The Tymes. I didn't plan this playlist as carefully as the one for our "prom." I wonder if I should explain. But then I realize that Anthony wouldn't waste tonight in worrying. He would just be glad to be with Ingrid. Glad to be dancing and kissing with Ingrid.

After awhile, we seem to be doing more kissing than dancing. And neither of us minds when a song that was already a golden oldie in '63 comes along, "I Only Have Eyes for You" by the Flamingos. And I really don't know if the stars are out tonight or if it's cloudy or bright.

Next thing I know, she's got me backed against the Rock. Twenty-five years ago, the Rock was just the landmark, not furniture. But I lean back as she nuzzles my neck and says, "Happy Anniversary, Anthony."  
"Happy Anniversary, Ingrid," I gasp, as she unbuttons my shirt. She doesn't take it off though, which is good because I don't want the abrasions. But I take hers off and then her bra, needing to see her alabaster skin shine in the moonlight.

"Love Is Strange" begins as Ingrid undoes my belt.

"Uh, Ingrid, condoms?" I remind her. I don't want to have to be the sensible one.

"I've got it covered," she says, taking one out of the pocket of her shorts.  
"What brand is that?"

"It's an imported brand. Flavored."

"Flavored?! You don't mean—"

"Yes, Anthony, I do."

After that, well, we let Mickey and Sylvia do the talking….

"Sylvia."  
"Yes, Mickey."  
"How do you call your lover boy?"  
"Come here, Lover Boy!"  
"And if he doesn't answer?"  
"Oh, Lover Boy!"  
"And if he still doesn't answer?"

"I simply say, 'Baby, oh, Baby, my sweet baby, you're the one. Baby, oh, Baby, my sweet baby, you're the one.' "

She stops before I come! "An-gel—Ing-rid!"

"My knees are getting sore."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Baby! Come up here! What were you thinkin'? I mean that was great, but you could've done it someplace more comfortable." For both of us.

"I know, but I just really wanted to right now."

I grin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, uh, did you bring more condoms like that?"

"Let me check my pockets. Hm, no, this is just a plain old garden-variety condom."

"Now what are we going to do with that?"

I'm not making this up, the next song is "Fingertips, Part Two," which you have to be two golden oldies like us to know the title of because it's not like Little Stevie sings the word "fingertips."

Our fingers dance as I ease down her shorts and panties (green this time!) and she gets the fresh condom on me. And then we do the dirtiest and the oldest dance there is.

"And everybody had a good time." We swing that song! Only, well, even with its false ending, it's too short. In fact, the tape runs out by the time we're both weak in the knees and we drop down to the ground and I keep making love to Ingrid. With my fingertips and everything else I've got.

"Ton—Anthony, it's not very comfortable."

"Sorry, Baby." I tear off my shirt and slide it under her sweet tush.

But after a few minutes she rolls me over, and I'm the one lying on twigs and rocks. "Hey, Ingrid, I admire your passion but—"

"Sorry, Anthony," she gasps and then she slides my shirt under me. And she rocks herself on me, wild woman that she is. I just lie back and enjoy the show. Well, OK, I tweak her nipples and stroke her wild blonde hair. And give her some teasing thrusts every now and then, but it's nice to let her let herself go. After all, if you only get two full days of Ingrid a year, you're gonna savor them, right?

OK, so it's not the most comfortable place I've ever had sex, but it is nice out here, with the stars and the moon and the lake and the—the rain.

"Um, Ingrid, that isn't you, is it? The raindrops?"

"I don't think so because I felt one, too."

"We better head for shelter."

"Well, it's not a heavy storm, like three years ago."

"Well, let's at least save the radio."

"Good idea."

She climbs off me and goes to the radio. I enjoy the view from behind. You gotta remember, the few times I've seen Angela, or Ingrid, naked, it's mostly been from the front.

"You have a great a—tush, Ingrid."

"Thank you, Anthony. So do you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She puts the tape player/radio in the tent and then starts to stroll back to me, and the front view remains amazing. I hope we'll continue where we left off, or maybe I'll get on top so we can finish. Or some more vertical sex would be good, too.

But then there's a clap of thunder. We both look up.

"You think God is telling us something?" All those years of Catholic school left their mark.  
"Yes, I think he's telling you to get in the two-man—I mean two-person tent."

"Thanks, God!"

I scramble to my feet, grab our clothes off the ground (hey, at least the grass stains won't show on Ingrid's panties), and crawl into the tent after her.

I slept in here by myself during my billboard fundraiser. I called Angela to say goodnight though, because it wouldn't have felt right not to say all the things I say to her almost every night. And then the next night she joined me, completely platonically, well, except for some snuggling, but that was in our clothes.

The tent blew away while she was up there, but we shared the sleeping bag. This time I made sure to secure the tent, so it wouldn't get blown across the lake or something. And this time we take off what's left of our clothes before climbing into the sleeping bag. Even with the storm starting, I think we'll be plenty warm enough.

It's very snug in there, but I wish it was snugger. I want to be as close as possible to Ingrid. And my poor penis, which was standing there in the rain, wants to go somewhere warm, although not dry.

I slide into her as we lay side by side. No one's on top for now. It's like a sex-cuddle, our arms wrapped around each other, her legs wrapped around mine. Sometimes we kiss and sometimes we just gaze into each other's eyes. Time moves slowly, like two years ago when we had what she later called "dream sex." But this is different. It's not about drifting lazily. It's about burrowing into her, digging and digging, but slowly.

The rain is pouring, like it did that night in the motel. And then she rolls onto me and rains on me. And I want to roll her over and rain into her, but of course we can't because I slept with Frankie and I have to wear a condom.

It's almost enough for me to make Tony go celibate, so that Anthony can more fully enjoy Ingrid. But I'm not ready for that kind of kind of sacrifice, not for only two days a year with Ingrid.

When I roll on top, she is my earth, just like she was my sky outside. Jesus, the way this weekend is going, I'm going to end up a Pagan! Uh, sorry, Jesus. No offense.

But, yeah, she's my water and my fire, too, and I am drowning and burning in her.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I feel like this? What's happening to me? I'm losing control, I'm losing my mind, I'm—

"Come, Anthony! Come, come, come!"

She may not be my boss at the moment, but I do exactly what she says. And just like when I kissed her three years ago, I fall into her, like gravity. Because she is a force, too, a force of nature.


	9. Spoony

Anthony and Ingrid sleep like spoons. It's the most comfortable position, particularly in a sleeping bag. It gives Ingrid a peaceful feeling, Anthony's strong chest against her back, his strong arms around her chest and stomach, his strong legs supporting hers.

But those aren't the body parts that wake her up.

"Mm, morning, Ang—Ingrid."

"Ton—Anthony, you're nudging me."

"Huh?"

"You're, you know."

"Oh, him. Well, he likes your tush. You know that."

"Yes, but what does he want—? I mean—" I'm glad my back is turned to him since I'm blushing.

He moves his head forward and kisses my cheek. "Baby, it's OK. He doesn't want anything in particular. He's just a morning person."

"And a night person."

He laughs. "OK, and an afternoon person. An any-time-you-want-him person."

"Any time?"

"Well, out of our two days a year, yeah."

Do I want him now? What do I want from him? Well, Anthony and I have tried different positions over the years, and even just last night. But there's one that I haven't done since Michael. In a two-person sleeping bag as it happens.

"Anthony?"

"Yes, Ingrid?" His tone is teasing but sweet.

"Well, do you like doggy style?"

I don't have to see his face to know he's grinning. I hear it in his voice on "You kiddin' me?" And I can feel it in on one of the cheeks of my derriere. "Do you like it?"

"It can be fun." I don't say that it was hardly something that Geoffrey, or even Grant, would've been likely to suggest. It takes an earthier sort of man for that, or at least to suggest it to a woman like me.

"Well, in that case—" he puts his hand between my tush and his crotch as if to guide his way in.  
"Anthony, you can't just—"

"I'm sorry, Baby! You want some foreplay first?"

"No, I mean you need a condom."

"Oh, right. Let me get one."

"Oh, and wash your hands first."

"Yes, Dear."

I roll my eyes but he can't see it. He scoots out of the sleeping bag, nudging my back and my hair along the way. "Excuse me, sorry." He hops onto the ground. "Oo, that's cold!"

"Well, come back to bed as soon as you can."

"I'd love to, but there's one little problem, Ingrid."

"What's that?"

"This tent doesn't exactly have a bathroom en suite."

"Oh, right." Last night, when I peed before supper, I had to do it in the woods, on a bush. And then I went down to the lake with a bar of soap to wash up.

"Come on, we both need to freshen up. Out of that bag, rise and shine! Let's move it, let's do it!"

"Anthony! It's too cold! And the lake will be even worse, especially this early in the morning."

"Come on, I dare ya!"

In a way, I want to tell him to forget about it, all of it, the bathing in the lake, the condom, the doggy style. But then I think Ingrid would race him down to the lake.

So I hop out of the sleeping bag and unzip the tent before he even has time to react. And I run downhill—nude!—to the lake. It's cold but sunny this morning, with the light dancing on the lake ahead of me.

He catches up with me despite his late start. He grabs me just as I reach the water, so I splash him. He splashes me back. And then we kiss.

It's like an Ingrid & Anthony version of our drunken kiss: naked, crazy, elemental.

And then suddenly it becomes something else. Anthony brought the bar of soap and he caresses me with it, no pun intended, although there's an idea for another ad that's appropriate for Playboy. He gently bathes me, my hands, my breasts, my bottom, and between the legs in particular. I want him so much that I'm aching with it. But when I reach for him, I realize how cold the water is.

"He'll come back." He hands me the soap and I wash his hands, even though they're cleaner just from cleaning me. Then I wash his muscles and his flaccid penis. It's still beautiful to me, because it's part of him, and because it's brought me so much pleasure. And it's just a really cute penis, OK? But I don't know how to make that into a compliment a man would like, especially a man with Tony's pride.

We're both shivering, and not just from the cold lake.

"Come on, that's fresh enough." He takes my hand that doesn't have the soap and we run back up the hill. We dive into the tent and I put the soap aside, while he quickly grabs a condom out of the pockets of my shorts. Then we dive into the sleeping bag.

"Warm me up, Ingrid," he says, so I rub my feet against his while he puts the condom on himself. "Yeah, I love your warm toes!"

I try not to smile that this is the closest Anthony and Ingrid have got to an I-love-you.

"Thank you."

"OK, let me warm your back now."

I turn as best I can in this narrow space and we spoon again. Then he kisses my ear and strokes my breasts. "Did you know that you're beautiful?" he whispers.

"It's always nice to hear." No one has truly made me feel beautiful before. Well, maybe it's different for Ingrid than for Angela.

"I love to look at you from every angle. I wish I could look into your eyes right now, watch the smile on your face. I can imagine them, but what I need you to do is to tell me with words, tell me what feels good, what doesn't."

"It all feels good so far."

"You can't see my eyes or my smile either. So I'm going to tell you that it feels good to me, too. Usually when I have doggy style, the woman is on her knees, maybe resting her top half on the bed."

"Oh. Did you want—?"

"No, I want spoony sex right now. I like cuddle-sex with you in this sleeping bag."

"I like it, too. It's just different than when we're facing each other."

"Yeah, I can't do this in that position." He reaches around with his other hand and teases my clitoris.

"Mmm, Anthony!"

"That's right, Ingrid. Tell me when you like it."

"I really like it."

"Good. OK, I'm loving playing with your breasts, but I need that hand back. I'm gonna guide myself in, just slow and shallow, OK?"

"OK."

"Don't be nervous, Baby. It's the same thing as before, just from a different direction."

I laugh. "I know."

"It's just me. It's just Anthony. See, here I am again."  
"Hello," I say as he penetrates me.

"Hi, Ingrid. Good morning again."

"Good morning, Anthony."

"Let's just pretend we woke up and started making love. You woke up in my arms."  
"Mmm."

"And you let me inside you again."

"Yes!"

"I wish we could spend the whole weekend just making love, falling asleep like spoons, and then waking up and making love all over again."

"That would be nice." Very nice.  
"But I've planned an afternoon hike."

I laugh, although I'm not sure he's kidding.

Then he moves his guiding hand back to my breasts, stroking and teasing them, while his other hand strokes and teases my clitoris. And I find myself arching my back in a different way than usual, so that my bottom presses against his crotch. And he starts going deeper and faster, not very much at first, but as I get more used to it, we both begin thrusting, not in sync, since we can't communicate with our faces, but in complementary rhythms, like when you sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" in a round.

"God, Baby, you're hot!"

"Mmm, thank you!"

"Why didn't you do this before?"

"I think I become more Ingrid every year."

"You'll destroy me by the time we hit our fiftieth anniversary."

I laugh and then I pull away and climb out of the bag.

"Ingrid!" he groans. "Where are you going?"

I don't go far, just to the outside of the tent. Then I grin down at him through the almost transparent ceiling.

"Are you gonna stand there and taunt me?"

"No, I'm waiting for you to come get me."

"Oh, in that case." He crawls out of the bag and the tent. I expect him to grab me, carry me down to the lake, and throw me in the water. But instead he grabs me and enters me from behind. I lean against the tent and expect it to collapse, but he's got too tight a hold on me, one hand around my waist, the other on my bottom. He thrusts into me quickly then withdraws equally quickly.

"Is this what you meant by getting you?"

"No, but I like it."

"Show me you like it."

I roll my hips and tilt myself to an angle I like. Then I reach back to squeeze his firm, tight derriere. And he pumps into my vagina, so hard and fast and it's so good!

"You're—hot—too—Anth—un—ee!"

I can feel his pelvic bone press against my bottom again and again, and I've never felt so animalistic with him, out here in the wilderness. Then the hand that was on my bottom appears on my head, stroking my hair, pulling it. I come intensely, three times right in a row.

In the middle of it, when my brain is jelly, he comes, too. Then his hair-stroking becomes tender, so my last orgasm is gentler, leaving me at peace.

"Ready for that hike?"

"I thought you said it was an afternoon hike."

"Oh, right. Let's go take a nap."

We crawl back into the tent, back into the sleeping bag, and back into each other's arms. I realize we haven't had breakfast and we've already had quite a bit of exercise, but all I want to do now is sleep with Anthony.


	10. Northeast of Eden

I don't know if it's me and Angela or Anthony and Ingrid that are holding hands and admiring the reflection of the sunset on the lake, but I don't care. It's the beginning of our last night alone until next year. Oh, yes, we will definitely celebrate the big 2-6.

The sky is clear and we might sleep outside under the stars. I imagine the sun rising again, and so will Anthony. He'll make love to Ingrid in their sleeping bag, maybe slow and savory. Then they'll bathe in the lake and then reluctantly pack up and head home. Well, Anthony will go to his home and Ingrid will go back to her three cats. (Branwell got run over, poor little guy.)

And me and Angela? Well, we'll return to each other, the selves we are without Anthony and Ingrid. I love that life, but I'll still be counting the days till we come back.

I look into Ingrid's dark eyes and see them reflect the colors of the sunset and then, as I move closer, I see my eyes smiling in hers. I take her in my arms and softly kiss her. Sex with her is incredible, in so many ways, but so is kissing her.

"Excuse me, is that your van?"

We spring apart, like two teenagers caught necking.

"Uh, what van?" I say, trying to play it off.

Then I turn and I see, at the edge of the clearing, that nerdy little shrink from Jonathan's camp. Oh, damn.

"The rusty blue van I saw parked on the edge of the forest. But no one was inside. And you're the first people I've found."

"Yes, that is our van," Angela says, to my surprise. Doesn't she realize who this guy is? "We went for a walk through the woods and we were just admiring the lake."

"Well, I'm sorry but this is camp property."

"Oh, is it? Is there a camp around here? We didn't realize."  
"Yes, there is—And excuse me, Ma'am, but you look familiar."

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think we've ever met."

He's reached the shore by now and he holds his hand out to shake, so she shakes it and then I do. "Dr. Bob Wormser."

"Great to meet you, Dr. Bob," I say, "We're Anthony and Ingrid Weinberger."

Poor Angela looks like she's going to burst out laughing.

He gives us a look like he doesn't think either of us looks Jewish, me especially. Well, I can swear in Yiddish if he needs proof.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weinberger, I'm afraid you're going to have to—Is that your tent? And firepit!"

"No, no, we saw those when we got here but we haven't run into whoever they belong to."

He goes over to the tent and I worry that he'll find clues to our real identities. Angela and I are luckily dressed (good thing he wasn't here an hour ago!), but we left our jackets inside since it's a mild evening. He winces when he reaches the tent.

"It looks—and smells!—like there have been illicit activities conducted in and, ugh, on this tent!"

"My stars!" Ingrid exclaims, and if she were wearing pearls, she'd clutch them.

"I'm sorry to shock you, Mrs. Weinberger, but this clearing is a notorious trysting spot for the older campers."

"You're kidding!" I try to act outraged, too, but I want to chortle.

"Yes, Mr. Weinberger, it's sadly true. You see that rock?"  
"That big one?"  
"Yes, for decades it has attracted the wilder element. They call it Spit-Swap Rock!"

"That innocent-looking rock?" Ingrid says.

"Who'da thunk it?" I say, shaking my head.

"Well, there are deep psychological reasons for this of course. Freud believed that rocks, or stones, represent—"

"Uh, shouldn't you try to track down the teens that the tent belongs to?" Ingrid suggests.

"Yeah, before they get away."

"Oh, of course! And please let me know if you spot them."

"You bet we will," I say.

Ingrid and I wait till we're sure he's out of earshot before we collapse on each other in laughter. When we regain control, she says, "I guess we should go."

I sigh. I wish we could stay but it's too much to risk. Like I said, we're just lucky he didn't catch us earlier. "You pack up and I'll, uh, wash off the illicit activities."

When we're ready to go, we take one last look around the clearing.

"Maybe we'll come back for our fiftieth," I say, and she laughs.

Then we lug everything through the woods. Along the way, she says, "I don't think he believed us."

"You kiddin' me? He's probably going to hunt for those illicit campers all night."

"No, I mean about us being the Weinbergers."  
"Well, I could've proved to him that I'm Jewish."  
"Anthony!"  
I shake my head. "Not that, Ingrid. I know a little Yiddish."

"Oh, like what?"

The phrases that come to mind are too filthy to repeat, especially since she'd either know what they were or ask me to translate. Then I blurt out, "Ani meta alecha!"

"What does that mean?"

"Uh, you have nice shoes."

"Really? That could come in handy."

I debate whether to tell her it's actually Hebrew for "I'm crazy about you." But I decide not to.

We make it back to the van and not until I start the engine does she ask, "What now?"

I'm not sure if she means that it's going to be harder than ever to go home and pretend there is no Anthony & Ingrid, or if she means we've got a whole night ahead of us.

"I don't know."

"Well, I can't come back from my conference so early. And you won't be able to easily explain why your camping trip ended abruptly."

"Ah. Right."

"Maybe we shouldn't go home just yet."

"Where can we go?" I wonder if she'll suggest our cabin, though they may be booked.

"How do you feel about Boston?"

"Boston?"

"Yes, it's just a couple hours away. And we're unlikely to run into anyone we know."

So that's where we go. We won't get a whole night together, but it's better than just going home and having to sleep apart. We'll have enough nights of that.

We end up in a youth hostel. No, really. It's the only place with a vacancy. Well, maybe not in the entire city, but we get tired of driving around. At least we're able to get a private room. Well, a room without a bunch of backpackers. But it's a tiny room with a tiny bed and the walls are right up against the bed.

"Uh, you wanna go out?" I suggest after half an hour of self-conscious necking.

"Out?"

"Like dancin' or somethin'?"

"Oh, well, we didn't really pack any dance outfits."

"We'll ask one of the backpackers."

So we go to this casual club and we're the oldest ones there. And the only ones touching each other on the dancefloor. But we don't care. We'll never see these people again.

Then we go back to our little room and snuggle and kiss. We sleep like spoons but we don't fool around in the morning. Instead we shower and get dressed, separately, her in the women's room, me in the men's. Then we go sight-seeing for a few hours.

When it's late enough we go home. We'll pretend I picked her up at the airport after I left my camping trip. We're getting pretty good at this. She even changes into a business-travel outfit for authenticity. I try not to notice that she's showing more leg than she did a year or two ago. Tony is supposed to be oblivious to that.

Sam is home when we get there, watching a movie with Jesse. Another romance, but at least this time it's _The Princess Bride._

"Hey, Dad, hey, Angela."

"Hi, Sam, hi, Jesse," we say almost in sync, and then hope they don't notice.

"Hey, Mr. Micelli, Ms. Bower."

"Oh, Dad, the Fall catalog came yesterday."

"For what, sweaters and stuff?"

She rolls her eyes. "For Ridgemont? Don't you have to register for classes soon?"

Oh, yeah. I've been so distracted about this anniversary, I haven't given much thought to the fact that I'm starting college soon. And that's saying something, because I really am excited about this opportunity to improve myself. Being President of the PTA has really shown me how important education is. And I want to be a good role model for Sam.

And, OK, maybe I want to understand some of what Angela understands. We'll probably always be very different, but we could be a little less different. I'd love to discuss literature and philosophy and economics and all that with her. Who knows? Maybe I'll even read _Wuthering Heights._

"Uh, yeah, I need to start picking out classes."

"So how was camping, Mr. Micelli?"

"Yeah, Dad, who did you go with?"

"Oh, uh, nobody. Everyone was busy this weekend. But, you know, it was nice to get out in the fresh air, have some alone time, to think and everything."

"Sounds nice. And how was your conference, Angela?"

"Crowded. No time to think. But I met a lot of interesting people. Good business contacts."

"So it sounds like you both got a lot out of this weekend."

"Definitely," Angela and I say in sync.

"So, uh, what about you? What have you been up to?"

"Jesse and I are having a movie marathon."

"Yeah?" I'm not sure if that's good or bad. On the one hand, it means they probably haven't been fooling around, unless they weren't paying attention to the movies. And on the other hand, it means Jesse is spending too much time over here.

"Well, us and Mona."

Mona comes in with a bowl of popcorn. "All right, who wants more? Oh, hi, you two. Back already?"

"Yes, Mother. We're back around the time we planned."  
"Oh? I guess the weekend just flew by."

"Yeah, it did," I say softly and try not to meet Angela's eyes.

Angela points at Mona's feet and says, "Oh, Mother, ani meta alecha."

Mona gives her a funny look and says, "I'm crazy about you, too, Dear."

"Excuse me, I'm going to take the tent and everything out to the garage," I say and make my escape out the front door.


	11. Volcano

"Jamaica?"

"Yes, I'm working on an account for a resort there and they've invited me, and I can bring guests."

"Guests plural?"

"Yes, and, uh, Mother sort of invited herself."  
"Oh."

"So I was thinking that maybe we should make it a family vacation."

"Family? As in the five of us?"

"Well, yes."

"I love it! When are we going?"

"Well, um, that's why I wanted to talk to you about it alone. It's the same time as Ingrid and Anthony's anniversary."

"Oh." I wasn't expecting that. And I wondered if she had originally thought of inviting Ingrid and Anthony, although there's no way I could've gone to Jamaica with her alone without everyone getting suspicious. I mean, it wasn't like when we went to my baseball reunion.

"I know we talked about staying in a nice hotel that weekend."

Yeah, we had. We were going to do all the things we didn't do in St. Louis: watch _The Way We Were,_ order room service, and, well, get a little matrimonial. We hadn't planned to share a room when we left for my team's reunion, but Betty started coming on to me, and I said Angela was my wife to discourage Betty. It didn't work, but I resisted. Both of them, all three of them: Betty, Angela, and Ingrid.

But the lines have been blurring more than ever. It started when we went to a frat party and Angela drank too much of the spiked punch. I left the room for a little while and while I was gone, Angela went Ingrid, dancing on tables and being mistaken for an exotic dancer! No, she didn't take her clothes off, but she started undressing the dean! Campus security hauled her in, and then when I went to get her, I got thrown in the cell with her for assisting her escape, when I was actually trying to stop her.

And then when I thought her assistant Jack was after her, I went crazy. I even followed them to their hotel. And he was there with his girlfriend, while Angela was in another room by herself. Luckily, Angela never found out how jealous I got.

Part of it was the guy gave really good foot massages, and I know how Angela likes her feet rubbed. And then she gave me a foot massage, applying what Jack had taught her, where every part corresponds to a different organ. And she, accidentally judging from her reaction, wandered onto a very sensitive part of my foot. And oh, that woke up Anthony!

When I rejected Betty, Angela was so happy that she gave me a big kiss. Well, she was my "wife" and we were making up, and Mona and the kids weren't around, so why not? But then when we were back home, I wanted to dance with her in our living room, teach her some new moves. The kids walked in when I dipped her, so we pretended we were looking at the plaster.

By this point, I was thinking _OK, maybe we can't let Anthony and Ingrid loose entirely, but couldn't we move a little closer to including them in our everyday lives?_ So when Mona suggested I ask Angela on a date, a real date, I decided to give it a try. And Angela said yes, once she got used to the idea.

The problem is we went to a comedy club where the comic made fun of our "weird relationship." So she punched him!

It's still hard to get past the fact that she's my boss and people aren't comfortable with the idea of us as a couple. I'm not that comfortable with it myself sometimes. And it was very hard for me to let her pay for half of my new Jeep. I sold the van. Yeah, a lot of memories, including of Ingrid.

But the big turning point in the past year was the return of her ex-husband. No, not Michael. Her other ex-husband. Only he wasn't her ex yet, which is why he had returned.

See, they met about 20 years ago, when she was 18. He was a romantic poet and he swept her off her feet. They ran off and had a Vegas wedding, which didn't get properly annulled.

Now, here's a guy who knew Angela almost as long as I had. He met her about five and a half years after her first kiss. And she hadn't done much kissing since Anthony. But he released the Ingrid in her. Maybe not as much as grown-up Anthony had, but enough.

He stayed over, so I had a little talk with him late at night in the living room.

"Hey, Brian, let me ask you a question, huh?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh, what was Angela like twenty years ago? I mean, you know, it's not like her to run off like that. You know, she's so conservative."

"On the surface. But you know what happens to women like her when they shed their inhibitions."

I grinned. "Oh, yeah, yeah! You're darn tootin' I do! Tell me anyway."

"They become volcanos of passion." And he told me she really loved his poetry.

So I started wondering if maybe if it was time to volcano-ize her at home. Not to the level of our anniversaries, but more than I had been. So I wrote her a poem, and it was pretty good. She told me, sincerely, not like she was just being nice, that she loved it. And she tenderly kissed my cheek.

And it got to me. Not in a volcano way, but something else, I can't explain it. I guess I was touched that she was touched.

But then later, we were talking in the kitchen about how she fell for Brian, and she said part of it was footsies. I'd always thought footsies were silly. Then she slipped off one of her shoes and ran her foot along my leg. In our kitchen! I told her it did nothing for me, but the minute she left the room, I had to throw cold water in my face.

Damn, that woman gets to me! And all these little moments, well, it wasn't like she was coming on strong to me. If she'd been more obvious, more Ingridy, I could've defended myself, defended our home. But yeah, I guess it was partly my fault, for trying to move closer to her, but not in an obviously seductive Anthony kind of way.

So we're off to Jamaica next week, with the kids and Mona. Maybe we can flirt a bit, like we did in Mexico three years ago. And have a belated Anthony & Ingrid anniversary when we get back.

But I know, I'm walkin' a tightrope here. What do I want from Angela anyway?

OK, you know what, I've thought about marrying her. And not just in the sense that I think she'd make a beautiful bride. I mean, we've been together for years now, and we've got all that we've got together.

But, as Fred and Ginger told us three years ago, it would be funny for her to date, let alone marry, her housekeeper. And even though I'm in college now, the gap between us hasn't shrunk enough.

OK, forget marriage. I don't know that I love her enough for that, although I think I could someday, unlike with Gina and Frankie, where there were limits. What about dating? Is there a way to date while living in the same house? Or would that be too weird?

Flirting is OK I've decided. There was a time when I was cautious about it. I couldn't even compliment her! That seems kind of silly after all our alter-ego trysts. Yes, we keep things separate, but you can't entirely separate something like that.

Anyway, I'm a flirtatious guy. I can't help it. I'm that way with most pretty women. It's different when I flirt with Angela, but I can get away with it because it's not different enough to stand out.

For her though, well, she's not a flirty person, generally. I mean, don't forget, I met most of her dates over the past five years, saw her around them. And she's still shy, conservative Angela, inner volcano or not. If you think about it, it's a wonder that anyone discovered the Ingrid in her. I feel really lucky that I get two days of it a year, even if I can never make up my mind if I want it the rest of the year. Well, I want it, but there's that old conflict between passion and a nice, safe family life.

This is going to be a family vacation. I'll try to concentrate on that aspect, make sure everyone has fun. Well, Mona finds her own fun wherever she goes, but we can hang out some. And the kids and I can go swimming, wind-surfing, the works. (As long as I don't put my head underwater, I'll be fine.) And Angela and I, well, we'll flirt, but we'll mostly just be two friends having fun together. She's not the same Angela who wore a business suit instead of a swimsuit to a California beach four years ago. Now she knows how to loosen up a little.

Hm, I wonder if all the Ingriding has helped. I mean, she'll never be that wild in everyday life. (Good thing, too!) But a little Ingrid doesn't hurt.

Anthony isn't that different than me, but I think he worries less about what the right thing to do or say is. He loves the Ingrid of her. I mean, not capital-L Love, but he enjoys her thoroughly, and not just the sex. I always seem to be either protecting Angela from herself and/or the world, or trying to get her to relax.

I think one thing is, Angela is like a car that only goes into first or fifth gear. One reason why Ingrid scares me (and she does sometimes, in a different way than Cassandra and Betty scared me) is because I worry that if Angela lets herself go, she'll go full-out, and that's not good on all those days when it's not an anniversary weekend. I'd like to see a second- or third-gear Angela, just partway to Ingrid. But I don't know if that's possible.

Another thing that happened this past year is Jonathan got his first kiss. I know because Angela and I witnessed it. Angela did not say it was a sweet moment between two lovely children. She hyperventilated.

I was proud of Jonathan myself, even though I don't like the girl's parents. But when I talked to Angela about it later, I could tell that part of why it bothered her, besides the fact that it meant her little boy was growing up, was that she was afraid it might lead to something.

"What? Like secret trysts twenty years later?"

She blushed and I have to admit I'd crossed a line, talking about how we crossed a line, because part of our agreement is that we try not to mention Ingrid and Anthony when we're home.

"No, of course not. But twelve is a very vulnerable, emotional age. Puberty plays havoc with your thoughts and your emotions. This is all very new to Jonathan, and he's more innocent than some boys are at his age."

"You want me to talk to him?"

She hesitated. "Yes and no."

"Uh, can you elaborate?"

Still blushing, she said, "Yes, as his father figure. Michael's hardly an expert on relationships or sensitivity, so even if he were around, I shudder to think what advice he'd give. You understand women, you like women, and you consider their feelings."

"Well, I try."

"You also have a very strong relationship with Jonathan. He looks up to you and he listens to you. That's why I think maybe you shouldn't talk to him."

"Uh, run that by me one more time?"

"Tony, what do you do when you give advice?"

"Share from my fount of wisdom?"

"More specifically."

I just stared at her, not getting it.

"You usually tell a story from your wild youth. You cannot tell Jonathan the story of your first kiss."

"Oh, right. What if I change the names?"

"Tony!"

I was teasing her, but she was right. One, I couldn't tell Jonathan about the girl who kissed me like she had an extra set of lips, even if I didn't say that that girl grew up to be Jonathan's mother. And two, how could I give a lecture about not building too much out of a kiss when Angela and I have built a whole secret role-playing affair out of it?

So instead I ended up telling Jonathan it's unsanitary to share gum and left it at that.

Watch, we'll go to Jamaica, and I'll spend the whole time telling Angela to relax when Jonathan chases girls on the beach.


	12. Taking Flight

"Dear, would you like something else to read? You haven't turned a page in an hour."

Damn, I knew I shouldn't have sat next to Mother on the flight home, but they were assigned seats. And it's not as if swapping seats with someone else in the family would've made things much easier.

I look down at _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,_ rather than at Mother. "Oh, I was just thinking."

"About what, Dear?"

"About what a nice vacation this was," I say slowly, even though I know I'm going to regret it. I know her little cat-and-mouse games.

"Yes, I had a wonderful time."

Whew, that was clo—

Then the trap snaps: "What was your favorite moment, Dear?'

"Oh, gee, there were so many."

"Was it almost drowning topless or showing Tony your underwear?"  
"Mother!" I'm very glad that Jonathan, who's in the aisle seat, is sleeping. I'm also glad that Mother at least doesn't seem to know what happened on the bench after the talent show.

It was supposed to be a family vacation as well as a business trip. And, yes, I initially thought of inviting Anthony & Ingrid, but I knew it wasn't going to be like their usual anniversaries. Tony couldn't just sneak away with me to Jamaica.

But then I got so caught up in having fun, even if it was fun conducted for research. And, OK, yes, I went swimming without my bikini top and almost drowned. And guess which part Tony was more upset about? We argued about it, in front of the entire resort. And then we tried to outdo each other, competitive fun.

It culminated in our dance-off. And, OK, yes, I showed Tony my underwear. Well, I showed everyone when I spun and my skirt flew up. But Tony's table was the only one where I rested my foot. And you should've seen the look on his face as he watched me, this expression of sheer terror, like _God, no, it's her! It's Ingrid!_

When it was Tony's turn, he seemed to be telling me _See, this is how people are supposed to dance in public,_ as he did a soft-shoe on the sand, to the tune of "Singin' in the Rain."

He ended with the splits and I was the only one who could tell he hurt himself. I know him too well, including his knees.

On a bench in a quieter area, I asked Tony if I went too far with my dance and he said, "Well, you kept your clothes on." And he knows that that's saying something for Ingrid.

I told him that I couldn't have cut loose like that in front of a crowd five years ago. And it was his influence. Yes, Anthony had much to do with that, but so did the everyday Tony.

When he told me that it bothered him that I was having so much fun without him this weekend, I sincerely told him, "But, Tony, the best times of my life are with you." And it was true. Yes, I had fun without him, but it wasn't as much fun. And it's not just fun with Tony. It's so many types of good times.

We looked at each other, and then suddenly I saw his eyes shift into Ingrid's Anthony's eyes. He lunged quickly for me and my arms went around him, his back and his soft hair, while one of his arms went for my back and the other around my neck. And we kissed like we were drowning! But I can't say if we were drowning in each other, or trying to rescue each other. Maybe both.

He pulled away like he wanted to say something, and I looked at him like my whole life was about to change. But then we hungrily plunged back into each other's faces and arms.

Then he pulled away again and said, "Oh, no!" I thought I'd hurt his knee, but he said, "I think we both know where this is leading to."

"Yeah?" I asked breathlessly. "What's your point?" Because I didn't know where it was leading. Yes, to sex, but with whom? Would we be Ingrid & Anthony? Was that even possible on a "family vacation"? Or would we at last make love as ourselves?

"Well, I mean, call me old-fashioned, but, uh, I don't think we can do this until we're married."

That did not mean what it would've meant if Anthony & Ingrid hadn't come back into our lives four summers ago. Obviously, Tony has had premarital sex. But I wasn't sure what he meant by this. Maybe that we can't incorporate Ingrid & Anthony into our everyday lives until we're married.

"Until?"

He laughed awkwardly and said he meant "unless." He reluctantly admitted that he's thought about us getting married. "But I'm not ready to propose."

"Good. 'Cause I'm not ready to accept." I'm not. Yes, I've thought about marrying Tony. I love him! But marriage is such a big scary step. And I'd want it to be forever this time, but forever scares me.

He told me that when he thinks about his future, I'm in it. But he doesn't know in what role. And he hasn't worked out his own future yet. He doesn't even have a major!

I told him I wouldn't care if he mowed lawns in Central Park. I'm past the doubts that I had years ago, before I knew that I love him. The problem is, he'd care.

"Look, Angela, I don't know about us, until I know about me." But I understood, and I love him more than ever.

After our talk, we snuggled on the little bench, watching the night sky, and the shooting star of Mother as a human cannonball.

"Excuse me, Mother," I now say, "I have to use the restroom."

"Good idea, Dear. It's the point in the flight where it's more likely to be empty."

"Yes, I thought—"

"Just remember the Federal Aviation Regulations."  
I should know better by now, but I ask, "What regulations?"

"Make sure you don't light up a cigarette afterwards."

"Thank you, Mother," I say through gritted teeth.

"You're welcome, Dear," she says as she goes back to looking at the scenery out the window.

I leave my book in my seat and squeeze past Jonathan's sprawling body. I make my way a few rows back to where Tony and Sam are sitting, with an obese, snoring businessman between them. Nonetheless, Tony is showing Sam his vacation photos.

"Look, at the sunset in this one, Sam! I don't think I quite captured the colors, these vivid reds and oranges, but if you'd seen it—"

"I did see it, Dad. I was on the same vacation you were."

"Well, yeah, but it's like my Philosophy 101 professor said: no one steps in the same ocean."

"Dad, millions of people step in the Atlantic, every day."

"But it's a different experience for each of them, because no one has the same feet. In fact, we've each got two feet, so really—"

"Angela! Save me!"

I smile at Sam. "Actually, I came back here to talk to your father."

"Thank you."

Tony glances at me and then at Sam. "Well, don't go anywhere, Sweetheart, I'll be right back."

She looks from the window on one side of her to the unconscious bulk on the other side. "Where would I go?"

He joins me in the aisle and looks around, like he's wondering where we can talk. I'm not sure either, but maybe we can find some empty seats where we can sit and whisper.

Unfortunately, the plane seems to be full everywhere. Except.

He gestures at the "vacant" sign on the restroom door. I hesitate, because I hope he's not thinking of what Mother was implying.

"Just to talk, Tony."

"You kiddin' me, Angela? It's not the best spot for a rendezvous. And, no, don't ask me how I know."

I blush but go into the restroom when he holds the door open for me. Then he quickly follows and shuts the door behind him.

"So what couldn't wait till we get home?"

I realize we haven't been alone in a tight space since the backpackers' hostel in Boston. But I remind myself that we're here to talk.

"Well, Mother is getting suspicious."

"Suspicious?"

"She thinks something is going on."

"With me and you? Or with Anthony and Ingrid?"

"Well, I think us, but I'm not sure."

"Well, if it's us, she's been suspicious since before we even met."

"True."

"But you see now why I couldn't let us get carried away that night."

"Yes."

"I think we need to just get Anthony and Ingrid together as soon as possible."

I look around.

"Not this soon."

"No, of course not."

"But we've got to plan something for them soon. Or we're both gonna go crazy."

I nod fervently. "When?"

"I don't know. I'll have a pretty busy schedule this Fall."

"And I've got a lot of big campaigns coming up."

"Winter?"

"We can't leave the family at Christmas!"

"Well, I meant after vacation. But I might have a heavy courseload then, too."

"Spring Break?"

"Yeah, that'd work. I can just say I'm going to Florida or something. And you can have your business trip to wherever."

"Perfect!"

"Well, perfect except that that's like seven months away."

"I know." I pout.

He leans forward and catches my lower lip between his two lips and next thing I know we're necking in the restroom!

Until someone knocks. We freeze, both hoping it's not Mother or one of the kids.

"Excuse me, will you be much longer? I really have to go."

It's not a voice I recognize. It's some man.

Tony makes a face like _Well, we might as well face the music._ I'm just glad we didn't remove any clothing.

He exits first and says, "Oh, hi." I follow and see it's his seatmate.

The man's eyebrows go up but he has to go so badly that he's not going to ask questions. Tony and I make our way back to Tony's seat.

"Sam's gone!" he hisses.

"Well, at least she wasn't in line for the bathroom."

"But where could she have gone?"

"Why are you panicking? She didn't fall out the window."

"No, but she may've fallen into Mona's sphere. You know those two when they put their heads together."

"Oh, I hope they don't wake up Jonathan!"

"Angela, you've got to get back to your seat, right away!"

"OK, OK!" So I do, but on the way, I see Sam talking to some cute college-age guy. She silently pleads with me to not tell her father. I silently remind her of our sisterhood and make my way back to my seat. Mother is talking to a cute college-age guy. He's taken my seat, having squeezed past Jonathan, who's still sleeping.

I sigh and say, "May I have my book?"

The guy hands me the book and goes back to chatting up Mother. I return to Tony.

"What's going on?" Tony asks, getting out of his seat.

"It's fine. I'm just going to sit here and read."

"Here? Next to me?"

"Well—" Before I can decide between the middle seat and the window seat, the fat businessman returns and it just seems easiest to give him the window seat, which he appreciates. I expect him to say something about catching us in the restroom together, but he just falls asleep.

"What a waste," Tony says, meaning the view out the window, I think. But I didn't want to be trapped.

So I sit next to Tony and do my best to read. We don't touch each other, although I'm very aware of his fragile right knee and sensitive foot next to mine. But we don't even hold hands.

And the only reference we make to our restroom conversation is when Tony asks, "So when are we flyin' down to Florida?"

I just shrug. We'll discuss that later.


	13. Spring Forward

It’s force of habit. That’s the only way to explain it. Angela has become so much like my wife that when we check into the Moonlight Motel, I just automatically sign the register for “Mr. and Mrs. Micelli,” like I would’ve done with Marie, ten or fifteen years ago. I don’t even notice until Angela says, “Uh, Tony.” Then I look down and see my signature.

I look up into her eyes, trying to figure out what to do now. I can’t exactly cross out the “Mrs.,” or change “Micelli” to “Weinberger.” “Yes, Dear?”

“We should probably head up to our room.”

I nod. “Yeah, long flight,” I say.

The desk clerk hands me the key and I thank him. Then we head for Room 202.

And how exactly did we end up in another motel, this time in Charleston, South Carolina? Well, after we teetered on the edge of Ingridhood in Jamaica, we knew we had to find a time and place to be alone again, really alone. On the flight home, we agreed to do Spring Break in Florida, although probably not at a hotel full of college students. Somewhere more off the beaten path.

And we settled into several months of tense waiting. Some of the highlights along the way:

1\. Angela and I in Brooklyn, cat- and apartment-sitting for Mrs. Rossini, but only scoring at the bowling alley  
2\. Angela and I reading D. H. Lawrence out loud to each other, and getting so turned on that we had to seek refuge in Dr. Seuss  
3\. Me calling a radio shrink about my boss that I’m in love with (I think) and have it bad for (definitely), and then turning off the radio real quick when I caught Angela listening (it was replayed in the evening)  
4\. Me hearing a rumor that Angela was having an affair with an employee, only to find out that Angela started the rumor herself and it was about me, “the closest thing she has to a man”  
5\. Angela pinching my butt on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City  
6\. Me getting so jealous of a guy making a pass at Angela that I really gave him “my killer serve” in our tennis match, and he dropped dead right on the court  
7\. Me feeling so guilty about that that I went to see Father Marconi, and then lied about never having touched Angela (well, I’ve mostly been touching Ingrid), but admitted I have feelings for her  
8\. Me getting over the guilt and giving her a very friendly tennis lesson, helping her with her strokes  
9\. And then a Spring Break that didn’t go according to plan.  


Sam wanted to go to Fort Lauderdale for the class trip, so I went as chaperone. Mona encouraged Angela to go along, to distract me I later found out. And she did her best. When she was about to put suntan lotion on my bare back, we flirted about whether it was raining or she was drooling. But then it rained. And then later, when we were inside, she came on to me, sitting close on a couch and saying she finds the rain romantic. But I had us play gin rummy.

So you see, these aren’t Ingrid City. They’re more like the ‘burbs. But I was having a real hard time not going to the city center.

Since we missed our chance to have Spring Break as our belated anniversary (it wouldn’t have been appropriate for a chaperone), I thought maybe we’d just have to wait till the 27th anniversary rolled around, and skip the 26th. But then we tried dating another couple.

Let me rephrase that. Mona accused us of being like an old married couple, so we went out dancing, to prove her wrong. And we literally ran into another couple. I mean, not that we are a couple, but you know what I mean. Angela accidentally stepped on the guy’s foot, but he was nice about it, so I asked them to join us at our table.

We seemed to have a lot in common with Brad and Jane. They work together and have known each other six years. (Well, five and a half for us, but close enough.) “And we can’t keep our hands off each other.” I changed the subject by asking Angela when Easter is. (April 15th as it happens.)

Brad confided in me that he wanted to ask Jane to marry him, and he explained why he hesitated so long. And it was a little too relatable. When Brad proposed to Jane and she said yes, Angela and I were so happy for them that we embraced and almost forgot ourselves.

So then we started double-dating and it was fun to have another couple to do things with. Except that what they wanted to do with us wasn’t what we wanted to do with them. Brad gave Angela a very passionate kiss in our living room. Anthony doesn’t even do that! And he’s got much more right to.

Before Angela could tell me about it, Jane groped my ass on the dance floor! Ingrid only pinched me on the Boardwalk, and she had much more right to. They wrote lewd messages on our backs! I mean Jane on my back, Brad on Angela’s.

We got them out of our lives, but they made us see how scared we are of commitment. I’m glad I didn’t propose to her in Jamaica.

But we were definitely on the outskirts of Ingrid City. And then later that evening, when my jacket was off and we were relaxing reading on the couch, I told her I didn’t get how Brad could just grab her and kiss her, take her by surprise like that.

We stood up and I thought we were gonna go upstairs to bed, separately I mean, and she just turned and grabbed and kissed me. I was so startled by the appearance of Ingrid, kissing all over my face as I dangled helplessly in her arms, that it took me a moment to start kissing back.

Then Mona called Angela’s name and we stood straight again. Mona came in from the kitchen and told Angela her lipstick was smudged. She looked at me and said, “Yours, too.”

Angela and I—or was it Ingrid and Anthony?—looked at each other, wondering what to do next. Mona just sat down and grinned.

“Well, Dear, aren’t you going to fix your face?”

“Uh, yes, I’ll wash off my makeup before I go to bed. Gee, look at the time. Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Anthony.”

“Anthony? My, aren’t we formal tonight?”

Angela looked like she could’ve kicked herself.

I very carefully said, “Goodnight, Angela.”

Mona waited till Angela went upstairs before she asked, “So, Anthony, I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“Not a thing, Mona. Uh, I’ve got to go wind the grandfather clock upstairs.”

“Have fun winding.”

“Thank you, Mona.” I love that woman like a mother, or like an aunt at least, but I swear there are times I want to strangle her.

When I went upstairs, the kids reminded me that the next day was the time change. (And April Fool’s as it happened.) And then they serenaded me with Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time,” which was really annoying, especially since I was trying to Spring Forward.

Angela came out of her room, pulling on her robe. “What is going on out here? Why aren’t you two asleep?”

“Aw, it’s a Saturday, Mom. Can’t we stay up late?”

Then Sam launched into the chorus of the Talking Heads’ “Stay Up Late,” and Jonathan joined in. Angela stared in disbelief and I was ready to kick the clock and maybe the kids down the stairs.

“What’s next?” Jonathan asked eagerly.

“ ‘Time after Time’?”

“ ‘Time in a Bottle’?” Angela suggested, making me glare at her.

“Oo, ‘Time Warp’!”

“Let’s do the Time Warp again!” Jonathan began.

“This is not _The Rocky Horror Picture Show!”,_ I snapped. “Or a karaoke bar. It’s time you went to bed—”

The three of them laughed because I said “time.” Then I stalked into my room and slammed the door.

“Tony’s right. Go to sleep, you two.” They grumbled but they went, kissing her goodnight. A pause and then Angela knocked softly on my door. I hoped she wasn’t looking for a goodnight kiss from me, because this was very much not the right time and place. “Tony?”

I reminded myself that this was not her fault, so I told her to come in. She hesitated and then entered, closing the door behind her.  
“Well?”

She hesitated again and then came over to where I was sitting on the foot of the bed. She leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You’re going to a baseball convention over Easter Weekend.”

“I am?” I whispered back.

“Yes, and I’m going as your platonic date, just like in St. Louis.”

“Oh, just like in St. Louis?”

“Well, with some differences.”

“So where is this going to be?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “I don’t know anything about baseball.”

“It’s OK. I’ll figure out something and then we can see if we can book a place for that weekend. We’ve got two weeks to plan.”

“OK.”

“Uh, you’d better get back to your room,” I said, because her robe had come open and I could see right down the top of her nightie.

She grinned Ingridly but took pity on me and just kissed the top of my head. Then she said, “Goodnight, Anthony.”

Not till I heard her bedroom door open and shut did I whisper, “Goodnight, Ingrid. See you soon.”

In South Carolina as it happens. Why South Carolina? Why not? We’re unlikely to run into anyone we know. As for why Charleston, why not? It’s a little coastal city with enough to do and see if we wanted to be touristy. And why the Moonlight Motel? They’re nice but affordable. And the main thing was, I was going to Ingrid City again, thank God!

We’re so impatient to get to our room that we can’t even wait for the elevator. And it’s only one flight up, so we run up the stairs. I’ve got the door unlocked by the time she gets there.

“Come on, let’s hit it, let’s move it, let’s do it!” I say, in the way I used to rally the troops in the morning when the kids were small.

She laughs and pants, “Aren’t you supposed to carry me over the threshold?”

“Is that what you want, Ingrid Micelli?”

“Yes, Anthony Micelli.” She’s got I-dare-you eyes.

So I scoop her into my arms, making her giggle. I carry her in, kicking the door closed behind us.

I wonder if this means that Anthony and Ingrid are now married in the parallel universe. Is everyone going to be ready to get married before we are, even our alter egos? No, I think they’re just pretending to be married to check into the motel.

I’m really tempted to throw Angela on the bed and climb right on top of her. But I’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer. I can at least wait for foreplay.  
So I gently set her on the edge of the bed and sit next to her.

“We should take off our shoes,” she says.

“Well, it’s a start.”

She laughs. I kick mine off but I gently remove hers. I lean down and bring her closest leg up into my lap, bending it at the knee. Then I rub her foot, incorporating a little of what we learned from Jack, but mostly doing it Anthony style.

She murmurs happily. And then she starts playing footsies with the other foot! This time, there’s no water to splash in my face.  
“I can see your matching orange panties again, Ingrid.” She isn’t wearing a long sundress like in Jamaica but her dress is orange. It comes to just below the knee. Well, it did before it rode up.

“At least I’m not flashing you in front of a crowd this time.”

“I appreciate that.”

I want to kiss her but it would be tricky in this position. Then she moves her foot away and thanks me. She doesn’t put the foot on the floor though. Instead she weaves her legs around mine, rubbing up and down, till I think I’ll explode.

“Anthony,” she asks, “have you been seeing anyone?”

“Define seeing.”

“Have you been inside anyone?”

“You mean recently?”

“Yes.”

How the hell am I supposed to answer that? I don’t even know what’s happening at Anthony’s restaurant anymore.

She leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Tony, I haven’t been with anyone since Geoffrey.”

Oh. I’d wondered. There hasn’t been anyone Grant-obvious, but who knows, you know?

“Tony, have you been inside anyone?”

“Does Ingrid count?”

“No, only Anthony is inside Ingrid.”

“Oh, right. No, the last person I had sex with was, believe it or not, Frankie.”

“I believe you.”

“Good, because it’s true.” Not that I haven’t dated, but, well, look. It’s not like Angela and I agreed to be exclusive or anything, but I’ve been so wrapped up in our sexual tension, and wondering when I’ll see Ingrid again, that I can’t really think about any other woman for very long.

“So that’s three years for me, and about two and a half for you.”

“Yeah, just about. Angela, what does this have to do with Anthony and Ingrid?”

“Have you been tested?”

“Tested?” For a second, I think she means in some class and then I realize. “Oh, tested. Well, yeah, actually.”

“You have?” She sounds pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, last Fall. See, there was this Safe Sex Day on campus. I mean, I didn’t have ‘safe sex.’ I mean, I didn’t have any sex. But I was tested. For everything. I’m clean.” This is actually true. I didn’t know for sure when I’d see Ingrid again, and we always use condoms, but I thought just in case.

She grins. “So am I.”

I can’t say I’m all that surprised. “Well, good.”

“That means Ingrid and Anthony are, too.”

“Well, yeah, I guess it does. Now can we get back to footsies?”

“I thought it does nothing for you.”

“It does nothing for Tony. Anthony loves it.”

“Oh, good.”

So she gives me more footsies, with those warm toes of hers running along my legs.

Then she says, “Stan or Neil?”

“Excuse me?” Why is she talking about the guys I thought she might be having an affair with?

“Do you want me to stand or kneel?”

“Uh, that depends on what you’re doing.”

“A little of this, a little of that,” she says, and then she stands up and I miss her legs right away, but then she kneels in front of me, undoes my belt, and soon we’re definitely back to Anthony & Ingrid.

She does this so sweetly, so lovingly, so Angela-ically! I mean, yes, it’s Ingrid-hot, but I’ve never had a blowjob, not even from Marie, where I felt so adored, like I have the best penis in the world and she just has to show her appreciation. I don’t mean there’s anything groupie about it. She’s also the take-charge Angela, too, or whatever the Ingrid equivalent is. I feel like she can make my penis happily do anything she wants. And if she wants it to stand tall so she can kiss, lick, and suck it, I’m perfectly OK with that.

And, yeah, no condom. It’s been awhile for that, because I was careful with Frankie.

“You have the sweetest lips, Baby! The fastest tongue! OH GOD, INGRID! You drive me crazy, you know that?”

I can feel her smile and I have to thrust into that. I wanted to save this hard-on for elsewhere, but she seems happy to swallow me, so why not? I’ll have other hard-ons, especially with Ingrid around.

She gags a little so I pull back as much as I can, but then she kisses me and uses her hands more. I start coming. I can’t not come with this woman. She could’ve used her feet and I would’ve come. (Uh, not that we’re into that. We like feet, but not to fetish level.)

Then she sucks again. She drinks me down. I want to eat her. OH GOD!

I drop to the floor, push up her skirt, and take down her orange panties.

“Anthony, you don’t have to reciprocate. I was just easing your tension a little.”

“Baby, I love reciprocation with you!”

She giggles and then moans as I go see the city center. So beautiful! I think she needs some adoration, too.

She lies back and I tenderly cup her gorgeous tush, her long lovely legs over my shoulders and down my back.

“Mmm, there’s some tension here, too. You need a lot of release.”

“Release me, Anthony!”

“Oh, you want me to let go of you?” I tease.

She grips me with her legs. She’s definitely not releasing me in that sense. After she comes, her hands gripping my hair, I gently lower her tush back to the floor. Her legs relax, her whole body relaxes.

“Better?” I ask, meaning does she feel better now?

“The best.”

I grin.

She shakily gets to her feet and I keep smiling, enjoying the view from down here. “I need to lie down.” She climbs back onto the bed.

“Hey, while you’re up there, can you throw me down a pillow?”

“Um, why?”

“OK, let me be Tony for a moment.”

“All right.” She shakes herself as if trying to return to Angela-ism.

“Let’s say somehow Mona and the kids find out we shared a room.”

“Why would they find that out?”

“They found out about St. Louis, didn’t they?”

“Well, yes. But what does that have to do with pillows?”

“I want to be able to say, ‘Yes, but I slept on the floor.’ ”

She stares down at me. “You’re kidding! You’re going to sleep on the floor the entire weekend?”

“No, not the entire weekend. I just have to take a little nap down here, and then….”

She nods, getting it. “And then you’ll have slept on the floor.”

“Bingo.”

So she tosses me down two pillows. “Happy napping, Tony.”

“Thanks, Angela.” And I curl up and drift off, oddly comfortable.


	14. Good Friday

How can he sleep, and so peacefully? I could understand if he were up on the bed, cuddling with me. But I had a long flight and oral sex, too, and I’m wide awake.

I shake my head and go take a shower. It’s a nice bathroom, the nicest one Anthony and Ingrid have had so far, not that that’s saying much. There’s even a tub. Definite possibilities.

I wrap towels around myself, one around my body, one around my hair in my usual turban. I don’t know if I should get dressed again. Are we going out on the town or staying in? Or is Tony’s nap going to last awhile?

I go out to check on him and he still looks exhausted but contented. Well, I’ll let him rest. I go to my overnight bag to fish out a fresh bra and panties, but my hand first touches underwear that is both more and less than the sum of those parts.

I haven’t always packed sexy underwear for these reunions. The very first one, well, how could I know that I’d spend the night in a motel with Anthony after twenty-two years? The next one, well, I didn’t want to assume we’d have sex. (How little I knew Ingrid & Anthony then!) The year after that, I packed that blue negligee, which wasn’t too revealing, except as a gown for the dancefloor. And then for the twenty-fifth anniversary, well, we were roughing it and it’s just as well I didn’t bring anything fancy, because I got grass stains on my panties. (At least they were green panties, and Tony was very sweet about cleaning them when we got home.)

This time though, well, after having to delay our anniversary by eight months (so it’s more like 26 and 2/3 years since the first kiss), and all that tension in the interval, not to mention that we would be staying in a nice motel, not a creepy one, not a nice but small cabin, not the great outdoors or a backpackers’ hostel, well, I thought it might be time for some serious lingerie.

I finger the lace and imagine it against my skin again. (I haven’t worn it since I bought it in a hurry on my lunch break one winter day.) I imagine Tony stroking it, stroking me.

I can hear in my head the way Tony’s voice stroked my ears as he told me, “Stroke, stroke, stroke.” One hand was on my shoulder, while the other overlapped mine on the tennis racket. I leaned back against him, copying his movements. I grinned and said, “Good housekeeper, good, good housekeeper.”

We haven’t exactly been keeping Ingrid & Anthony as separate as we used to. The frustration of Jamaica just made that I & A energy spill over into everyday life. Or I guess it’s that the energy of those two intense days each year has instead been distributed over eight months. So that’s, what, 1% of I & A each day? Not that it’s an equal amount each day of course.

Had Anthony tried to teach Ingrid tennis, they probably would’ve ended up having doggy style standing up! Since it was me and Tony, it was just flirtation. But yes, it all added up over time, which is why we had to, well, swallow each other almost as soon as we got into the motel room.

Sometimes the flirtation is wonderful. I feel so happy, even giddy. Tony and I have flirted for years, but there’s so much more to it these days. So much more anticipation. And after our talk in Jamaica, I sometimes feel confident that we will be together, truly together, all the time, someday.

Sometimes I feel that way. And other times, I feel so insecure. Why does Tony still feel the need to not just flirt with other women but to date them? It was a relief to hear that he hasn’t been with any woman since Frankie. Because of Ingrid? Because of me?

I still don’t know if he loves me like I know I love him. I know he loves me. He’s told me, he’s shown me. But it’s not in-love love, is it? He’s thought about marrying me, and he told me once that he wouldn’t marry without love. But if he’s not ready to marry me, does that mean he’s not yet in love? After all, he didn’t have to think about it with Marie. He just knew and jumped into it.

Yes, I still occasionally go out with other men, or at least think about it. But I’d rather wait for Tony. And, yes, having him in the form of Anthony eases the waiting. I think that may be why, even though he does go out with other women, it fizzles out almost before it starts.

How long will this go on? Till he graduates? But what then? Will we marry or drift apart? Or neither? He won’t be my good housekeeper forever. So what will he be then?

He has chosen a major at least. He wants to be a teacher. I hope he goes through with it. He’s so patient and wise, and wonderful with children. But he’s still got over two years of college left, and so much can happen in the meantime. For him, for us.

I told Sam, when I found out that she and Jonathan saw us necking in Jamaica, “Your father and I have this very complicated, open-ended relationship that’s kind of in flux.” Obviously, the I & A dimension has added its own complications.

I realize that none of this explains why I bought and packed a black teddy. Well, I hope we’ll have many more anniversaries, until we find a way to truly, fully bring Ingrid & Anthony into our lives. But whether or not we do, I want to be as sexy as I can on this not-quite-anniversary. And when I go back into the bathroom and put on the teddy, I try to see it as Tony will. He’ll ogle my legs, from my warm toes to my smooth thighs. He’ll try to spot my nipples through the peekaboo lace. He’ll like the way my tush (as he calls it, seldom butt or ass, or derriere for that matter) is hugged so that the outer edges of the cheeks are just visible. And he’ll want to remember the crotch that’s being covered up by the solid black.

I unwrap my turban. Hair up or down? I look more wanton with it down, but I know he likes it best up. OK. I put it in a French twist.

I return to the bedroom. He’s still sleeping! That’s quite a nap, Mr. Micelli. Well, Mrs. Micelli is going to put on the finishing touch. I take out the matching black lace peignoir and return to the bathroom mirror. Perfect! Sexy but elegant.

Of course, I don’t know if I can maintain this till morning. Well, if he’s not up by the time I’m sleepy, I’ll go change.

I get out Anne Brontë again, since I didn’t get much reading done on the plane back from Jamaica. Obviously, it’s hard to concentrate, knowing that Tony is so close, with his boxers and jeans still down. But I’ll let the poor man sleep.

I snuggle under the covers, wishing I were snuggling with Tony instead of a book, much as I love to read. But I’ll try to be patient.

Luckily, it’s a short wait. I get only a couple pages in before I hear, “Whoa, how long was I out for?”

“Maybe half an hour.”

“Sorry about that. Hope you weren’t bored.”

“No, I can amuse myself.”

“Yeah?” He sounds turned on, so I know what he’s imagining. He sits up and puts his head over the edge of the bed. “Oh. You’re reading a book.” He sounds disappointed.

“Mm hm. Well, I am a Literature professor.”

“Oh, right.” He sounds like he forgot for a little while that we are not supposed to be ourselves this weekend, but I’ve forgotten that a bit myself.

He stands up and then crawls into bed. He snuggles up against me, on top of the covers, and asks, “Whatcha readin’?” in a cute/annoying way. I show him. “Yeah? I read _Wuthering Heights.”_ I remember. When Sam read it to impress her grad-student crush. And since Tony, from the days he memorized her drill team’s cheers to the present, likes to be a part of Sam’s life, he read it, too.

“Did you like it?” I ask, remembering Tony’s verdict that it was crazy but passionate.

“It was OK. I liked _Jane Eyre_ better.”

“Oh?” I didn’t know he’d read it. “Why?”

“Well, the main character, Jane, she was a quiet, mousy girl on the surface but she was a volcano underneath.”

I laugh. “I never looked at it that way before.”

“See? Even you Literature professors can learn something.”

“I suppose so.”

“So how’s their sister as a writer?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t finished the book yet.”

“Do you have to read it right now?”

“Well, let me finish this chapter first.”

He looks disappointed, but as if he can afford to be patient now that the edge has been taken off our overflowing lust. “OK, maybe I’ll nap a little more while I wait.” He slides under the covers to snuggle me more closely, and then he gasps as he feels the lace and silk of the teddy. He throws back the covers entirely. “INGRID!”

“Hm?” I say, pretending I’m concentrating on the book. I wish I had my reading glasses on, to add to the pretense, although these days I more often wear my contacts than those huge glasses I got when I first knew Tony. After all, it’s the ‘90s now.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were wearing?”

“Well, you were asleep.”

“You could’ve woken me up!”

“Well, you’re awake now. What do you plan to do about it?” I don’t look away from my book, but there’s a challenge in my voice. I know he will rise to that challenge.

He hesitates and then he strokes strokes strokes the teddy and the skin at its edges. “So soft,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” I murmur, still not putting my book away.

“Why are you teasing me like this, Ingrid?”

“Because you like to be teased, Anthony.”

“Yeah, but there’s such a thing as reciprocation.”

“Oh?” I turn the page, although I’m not actually reading by this point.

“Yeah.” His touches get more teasing, especially on the fabric over my nipples.

I let out little happy sounds, but I do my best to continue to pretend to read. So then he starts using his mouth. Light kisses at first and then nibbles, which he’s never done before. Not hard bites, just teeth-teases. I’m ready to throw the book to the floor and jump him, but I do my best to maintain my pose.

He pleasures my breasts through the fabric and I have to force myself not to reach orgasm. He scoots back up to the bed and asks, “How’s that chapter comin’?”

“Closer to finishing but still not there.”

“I hope you reach it soon,” he says and then tries to pull the top of the teddy down. But he rips it! “Oh, geez, I’m sorry Ang—I mean Ingrid.”

“You’re going to have to buy me a new one, Anthony,” I try to say sternly.

“Yeah? Well, in that case.” And he puts one hand on my crotch and starts teasing that until he rips the panty section apart.

I could stop him easily, with a word or a look. But I just say, “Dear me, it’s going to be in shreds by the time you’re done with it.”

“It was in my way,” he says, not at all contrite now. And then he touches and kisses me everywhere, till I do toss the book aside and just give myself up to pleasure.

He’s solid as a rock by the time he’s done, so he mounts me. “No condoms, Ingrid?”

“No condoms, Anthony. I’m still on the Pill.” (And 40 in a couple months, although I don’t mention that.)

He grins down at me. “Great!” And he enters me. I can’t really tell much difference without a condom, but he definitely can. “OH GOD, INGRID! I’m really inside you now!”

“Yes, Anthony,” I whisper, watching his expressive face. We couldn’t have done this when we first got together. Not just because we weren’t celibate the rest of the year, but also because there is something incredibly intimate about it. I don’t just mean below. I mean his eyes, his smile, maybe his heart, definitely his melting mind.

“Stroke, stroke, stroke,” I tease, and he grins again.

Then he puts his full weight on me and I hold him close, everywhere, every way, I can.

“God, Ingrid, you're clenching me! Your walls are so, oh God!”

My vagina is hugging him again and again, because she loves him so much! And twenty months is too long to go without this kind of reunion

When he comes, it’s quickly, shouting Ingrid’s name. Then he lays next to me, snuggly and sweet. “Sorry, Ingrid. It was too much for me.”

I kiss his cheek. “I understand.”

“But you need more, don’t you?”

“Always,” I say, and I don’t just mean I need more orgasms. I mean more of him, more Anthony, more Tony. Forever and ever. But I can’t say that of course.

“Let’s go take a shower together.”

I grin at him, knowing what he means. I haven’t had shower sex since the early days with Michael. (Grant never had time for the extras, beyond some foreplay I mean. And Geoffrey had his bathroom routine, including flossing, and it wasn’t terribly erotic.)

I take off my peignoir and then toss the remnants of the teddy on the floor, to see if Anthony will become my good housekeeper and pick it up. But he doesn’t even seem to care about the wet spot on the sheets right now. (And of course it’s messier without a condom.) In fact, he drops his shirt next to the teddy.

I take his sticky hand and lead him into the bathroom. “You like it hot, Anthony?” I ask, as I turn on the faucets. “Or cool and refreshing?”

“Let’s start with warm and see where we want to go from there. Definitely not cold.”

I grin at him. “This is how I like it,” I say as I step in. “Let me know what you think.”

He follows me in. “Yeah, nice to start.” He takes the soap and starts to lather me up everywhere. My breasts aren’t particularly filthy, but you’d think they were, considering the amount of attention he pays them. He also bathes my legs thoroughly. And then beyond thoroughly between them.

He nips at my neck as I come, which only adds to the intensity. “No hickeys!” I warn, although I can’t say it’s because Mother and the kids will notice. But he understands.

I wait till I catch my breath before I start washing him. I realize that I’ve never actually caressed Tony like this, naked and standing up, definitely not with a shower running. I think of how he had to fake a shower for the Machismo commercial. At that point, he had seen me nude, but not lingeringly.

I had to stand there, in my guise of advertiser, and try to be objective, through all those takes, about how he looked. He wasn’t a very good actor (he’s improved since then), but he definitely looked good in just a bathing suit. I noticed where he had hair, on his chest and his lower back, as well as of course his armpits. I noticed the shape and the placement of his muscles. But I was honestly so distanced from my attraction to him then, that I told myself that I would view any of the male models this way.

Mother had of course pointed out on the day I met Tony, when she was urging me to hire him, that he was a hunk. Well, I didn’t go for “hunks.” I thought they were all like Mr. March, although I hadn’t met Gus yet. You know, vain, brainless. Tony definitely had a streak of vanity (he still does), but he was not brainless. Uneducated and sometimes ungrammatical, but he was sharp, clever. And, as I learned in time, warm, sensitive, caring.

This only makes him sexier. The better I get to know him, the sexier he is. And now, as I move the soap along this gorgeous, near-perfect body (I have mixed feelings about the “Keep on Truckin’ ” tattoo on his upper arm), some of the time I’m ogling, but the rest of the time I’m watching that face I know almost better than my own. There is no doubt that I’m giving him pleasure.

The water is warm enough that it doesn’t stop him from becoming hard in my hands. “That’s right, Ingrid, soap me up. I’m gonna give you some deep scrubbing.”

I giggle and then moan. We start necking, the shower running down our bodies like rain. And then our bodies join, standing up, almost of their own volition, his thrusting into mine, mine opening for his. We are the perfect height for this.

I pin him to the wall of the shower stall, one leg raised. He strokes that leg. Then I nuzzle and nip at his sensitive neck. I pleasure myself upon him, taking him inside me again and again.

He moans and groans helplessly. And then he grabs my tush and I wrap both legs around his waist. He turns us so that now I’m pinned to the wall. He starts out teasing me, slow shallow strokes. Then I grab his tush, too, and we thrust at each other, in rhythms, and counter-rhythms. And we neck, too, some of the time, but mostly we’re gasping too much for that.

After I come, he gently sets me down, and I silently wonder if we’re done, but then he says, “Lean against the wall, Weinberger.”

I laugh but I do, my back to him. And he enters me from behind, one hand reaching around for my clitoris, the other for the nipple closest to my heart. He thrusts so fast, and I’m so dizzy, but I don’t want him to stop.

I look over my shoulder and see the expression I love most, Anthony losing himself helplessly in orgasm. It always seems to take him by surprise. Maybe the timing, maybe the intensity. Or maybe he still can’t get over that he’s coming with Ingrid. And I suppose again coming without a condom makes it all the better for him.

Cleaning up is easier than it was in bed. Our lust goes down the drain, but we know it will return tomorrow.

We grab towels and, leaning on each other for support, stumble back into bed. We collapse onto the bed in a tangled sleep, and my last conscious thought is that this is the best Easter weekend ever, and it’s still only Friday. A good Good Friday with my good, good housekeeper.


	15. Easter Sunday

"Bless me, Father, I have sinned..."

I know, it's crazy doing this. Easter Confession in a town I've never been to before and will probably never see again. I should wait till I'm home and can see Father Marconi. Why not just go back to the motel and sin with Ingrid some more?

But I can't. When I woke up this morning, I felt like everything had changed. All that sex with Ingrid without a condom. (Five times on Saturday! I've never been so grateful for room service. We just had to put on robes for awhile and not go out to restaurants.)

No more barriers. Well, fewer barriers. It's not just physical. Barriers have been falling between us for years. And I don't know if I can keep doing this, being divided like this.

If it was just supposed to be one weekend in August, well, we've thrown that out the window. And it's not like our everyday lives are untouched. Every year, the boundaries blur more.

Angela was surprised when I told her I was going to Easter Mass. She offered to go with me, but I said this was something I had to do on my own. (I didn't mention I'd be doing Confession after Mass.) I'm sure she wondered why I didn't bring this up when she suggested an Easter trip. But she respected my choice, even if she looked puzzled.

So I left that beautiful, sexy woman, at her Ingridiest. We agreed to meet up in a park and then get brunch and go sightseeing before catching our flight home. Yes, I'd rather go back to the motel, but I realized that Mona and the kids would ask for travel details, particularly since Angela has never been to South Carolina before.

I guess I am putting off having sex with Ingrid again, even though I was so eager to have it these past twenty months. Well, we'll have it again in four months. We haven't picked a location yet but we'll figure that out when we get closer. And by then, maybe I'll have sorted out my feelings more.

"Mah Son, wah are yew pilin' see-on on see-on?"

The accent throws me, although of course I should've expected it. But the vowels aren't what I'm used to. Maybe I should've waited for Father Marconi. But then I'd have to explain why I lied to him before.

"I don't know," is all I can think to say. Because I don't know.

"Yew ev-ah he-ah the expression 'Fee-ush or cut bay-ut?' "

"Uh, yeah."

"See-on a-sigh-ud, yew can't keep stringin' along that poor gal."

"So what do I do?"

"Yew eith-uh mare-uh An-gee-luh or yew ghe-uv up Een-Grud."

"Uh, thanks." I can't imagine doing either, not yet.

Then he gives me the "pain-unce."

OK, I'm probably not capturing the accent. And yeah, he probably thinks my accent, with its blend of Brooklyn and Fairfield, is weird, too. But the point is, once I figure out what he's saying, it makes a lot of sense, but it doesn't solve my conflict. Maybe only time can do that.

I meet up with Angela at the park, right on the water. She's reading Anne Bronte (hasn't made much progress with it this weekend for some reason), and she's got our bags with her, since she had to check out of the motel on her own.

I sit next to her on the bench and slide my arm around her. "I hope you were OK waiting."

"Yes, it's a lovely view, with the sun and the water."

I look at the boats and say, "You wanna rent a rowboat or something?"

"Oh, gosh, Anthony, I haven't been out in a rowboat since camp."

"Yeah, I remember."

"What do you remember?"

"I was out on the lake, in a canoe. And there were a bunch of girls in a couple rowboats, girls from Camp Stuck-Up. Me and my three bunkmates were kidding around anyway, you know, splashing each other, trying to tip over each other's canoes, and then we started getting worse, to get the girls to pay attention. But they almost all had their noses in the air, like they'd be contaminated if they even looked at us. There was one girl though, with long straight blonde hair. She looked like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or frown, but she was watching us. So then I started watching her and then I smiled and she shyly smiled back. Well, of course my buddies started raggin' on me then. 'She likes you!' You know how kids are, especially boys that age."

"Eleven."

"Uh, yeah. I had no idea she was older. I didn't know anything about her. But I wanted to know more. So I made Bruce Weinberger, the guy in my canoe, row closer to her boat. He didn't want to but I insisted. So then the guys in the other canoe followed. And I got close enough to see her better. She had dark, mysterious eyes. So I grinned at her. Do you remember, Ingrid?"

"Yes, I do now. They were a bunch of rowdies from the Y Camp, and Cheryl, the girl in my rowboat, said to ignore them. But they were so noisy I couldn't. And then one of them noticed me watching. He had wavy dark hair and he reminded me a little of Frankie Avalon."

I groan, "Oh, Jesus, Frankie Avalon?"

"It's a compliment. I liked Frankie even more than Fabian."

"OK then."

"This boy didn't have a hair-helmet but he had that same sort of boy-next-door but mischievous look about him. And then he smiled at me, and it was a very warm smile. Friendly and flirty both, so I wasn't sure what he wanted from me."

"I don't know what I wanted either. Except to get closer to her, to you."

"Yes. And Cheryl tried to paddle further away, but the others, Judy and Tammy, had brought their rowboat closer, to see the fun, so we were sort of blocked. And I wouldn't help Cheryl because I couldn't take my eyes off the boy. He had puppy dog eyes, but a playful puppy."

"Oh, God, Ingrid, this is so embarrassing!" But I want her to keep going.

"I returned his smile, even though I felt self-conscious about my braces. It felt like we were the only people on the lake, but of course our friends were teasing us."

"I should've drowned Bruce!"

"Why, what did he say?"

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"Well, I guess you wouldn't. You didn't seem to understand. He said, 'Hey, Blondie, how'd you like to play with the little man in the rowboat?' "

"Oh, yes, I thought that was very rude of him to make fun of you for being short."

"Ingrid."

"What?"

"Think about it."

So she does, and then she gasps, "Oh, that's what he meant! Now I understand why Judy snickered!"

"Uh, yeah."

"I just remember the boys in the other canoe tried to tip over Judy's rowboat and we all paddled to get away."

"And you did. I watched you start to disappear before we'd even talked to each other. So I yelled across the lake, 'I'm Anthony!' "

"Right. And then the boys in the other canoe said they were named Anthony, too."

"Yeah, Anthony Camisa and some guy who wasn't from my neighborhood. I waited for the girl to yell her name back, but she didn't."

"I was tempted but I knew Cheryl wouldn't approve. She was already scolding me for paying attention to you."

"Yeah, our friends were a lot of help."

"Yes."

"Anyway, me and the guys went back to the Y Camp and of course they told everyone about me hitting on a girl from your camp. And I was embarrassed of course, because I hadn't even intended to flirt, and it's not like I said anything to you but my name. But at the same time, they egged me on to go over to your camp and see you. I wasn't gonna do that, especially since you didn't seem that interested. For all I knew, you just thought I was different from the boys you knew, but not in a good way."

"Then why did you steal my underwear?"

I blush a little. "Oh, right, that. So I guess it was a couple nights later. The guys dared me to go over there after supper. They'd all go with me. So I took the dare and then things got out of hand."

"Oh?"

"Well, yeah. I was too shy to talk to you."

"You, shy?"

"Yeah, me. We hid in the bushes till we figured out which cabin was yours. The girls were all going to supper, I guess yours was later than ours. The guys were nudging me to go over and talk to you, but now there were packs of girls—it was all girls back then, not coed—and counselors, and I didn't want us to get caught. Then when you were all in the dining hall, Anthony C. said, 'Let's go in her cabin and see if she's written about Tony M. in her diary!' "

She blushes. "How did you know I kept a diary?"

"I didn't. Not till now. It was just a lucky guess of Anthony C.'s, because you know, girls keep diaries. I told him we couldn't invade your privacy like that, so Anthony B.—I forget what the B stood for, Bruno or Bianchi probably—he said, 'Oh, we'll just look around.' And the other guys were up for it, and I knew I couldn't stop it, so I decided to go with them to keep them from getting out of hand. So we snuck in and looked around. And there was some sign that said that this was the 13-year-old girls' cabin. So then my buddies were all goin', 'Oo, Tony M.'s found himself an older woman!' "

"So that's how you knew I was 13."

"Yeah."

"But how did you know which underwear drawer was mine?"

"You'd been wearing a blue headband, this real rich blue."

"Sapphire blue."

"I guess, yeah. And it was sitting on top of your dresser. Bruce Weinberger noticed it. He had a good eye for details. I think he worked his way through law school later. Anyway, we all crowded around the dresser like we'd found a treasure chest. I still wanted to protect your privacy, but I knew there was no way I could stop the guys. So I said, 'Let me look,' and they all agreed I had the most right to. So I started on the bottom drawer, because that seemed the most likely place for a diary. And the first thing I touched was soft and cottony."

She blushes again. "My days of the week underwear."

"Yeah, I took it out and it said Tuesday. And this was a Monday. Well, you can imagine how the guys reacted. And then Anthony C. was the one to suggest we run it up the flagpole. And Anthony B. said, well, anyway."

"What?"

I blush again. " 'I bet Tony M. salutes it.' "

"Oh." She giggles. "Did you?"

"Ingrid! I was only eleven! I mean, yeah, I saluted it with my hand when the guys actually did run it up the flagpole. But I hadn't really hit puberty yet, so, no. And then I wanted them to take your panties down—I mean off the pole—I mean."

"It's OK, Anthony. This is an embarrassing story for both of us."

"Should I stop?"  
"No, you can go on. If you want."

"OK. Well, I thought we should lower Tuesday so you'd have something to wear the next day. But then people started coming out of the dining hall, so we ran for it and back to the canoes."

"I heard boys running away and laughing—"

"Ay, I wasn't laughing."

"Well, your friends were. And I was very embarrassed when I realized whose panties those were. And then Cheryl sniffed and said something snide about 'courtship rituals of the lower classes.' "

"Sweet girl."

"Yes. And I wore Wednesday's underwear all the next day and wondered how I'd explain to Mother that I'd lost my panties at camp. Of course, I realized years later that she'd have been delighted." Yeah, Mona probably would've been, although Anthony can't know that.

"So why didn't a counselor or somebody lower Tuesday?"

"Miss Grunecker said the panties had to stay up there, as a reminder that we were not to fraternize with the boys from the Y camp. And they'd only be lowered if their owner stepped forward and took her punishment."

"Harsh."

"Yes. And of course I wasn't going to reclaim them. And my friends, even Cheryl, promised not to tell. Of course, if Miss Grunecker had lowered them, she'd have seen my name-tag sewn in by my housekeeper."

I chuckle, thinking of a later housekeeper taking care of her undergarments, although he wasn't a good, good housekeeper when he ripped her teddy off her.

"To my surprise, the panties were returned to me Wednesday night, by which point I was wearing Thursday."

"Well, yeah. See, it started to rain and the guys teased me about your, um."

"Panties getting wet?"

"Yeah. And I felt bad for you anyway. So I decided that if Tuesday was still up there, I'd take it down myself. Well, that really made the guys tease me, but Anthony C. said he'd go with me. You know, Pitkin Avenue loyalty."

"Paisan."

"Yeah. So we 'borrowed' a canoe again, and got there after curfew. Of course, if we'd have been caught, it'd have been even worse than showing up at suppertime. But I didn't plan to be caught. Anthony C. dared me to climb up the pole but I could just see myself falling and cracking my head open. So I just used the ropes and took Tuesday down, Anthony C. keeping a lookout for me. And then I was just gonna throw Tuesday through your window, but he said, 'You should leave a note.' And I said, 'A note?' And he said, 'Yeah, you like her, don't you?' And I said, 'I don't know. She's OK. But I don't even know her, do I?' Then he said, 'Well, you're holding her panties, aren't you? That's pretty intimate.' "

Suddenly I think of how weird I felt about doing her dainties when I first moved in. My Psychology professor would probably say that this formative experience shaped how I regard even innocent handling of panties, although I can't see using this case study in my term paper.

"I said, 'What am I gonna say in a note?' He thought a minute and then he said, 'You should say if she wants to thank you for returning 'em, she can meet you tomorrow night at the Rock.' I said, 'Rock? What rock?' I thought maybe it was some dance or somethin', like a sock hop. So he explained about Make-Out Rock. He had an older brother who'd been to the same camp a few years earlier, so he knew a lot of the camping traditions I didn't. But I was eleven years old. I'd just started to discover girls. I didn't know if I wanted to make out with one, especially one I'd never really talked to. But he kept egging me on, and I thought why not? So I wrote what he told me."

She nods. "The next morning, Cheryl screamed because she stepped on a safety pin in her bare feet." I snicker and she can't help smiling. "It must've come undone when you threw the underwear in. But, after we put a Band-Aid on Cheryl's foot, Judy found the note and my underwear. She said, 'Get this, Girls! Angela's knight in shining moccasins brought her undies back!' And she waved them in the air. We all speculated on whether he had stolen them and run them up the flagpole merely as an excuse to invite me to Kissing Rock."

I wonder if this was a formative experience for her, the beginning of that girl-talk where girlfriends try to figure out what boys, and then men, are thinking, because of course guys can't tell them directly. "So did they think you should go?"

"Well, they were divided on the matter. Cheryl of course thought any interaction with the Y Camp boys was a bad idea, and meeting one in the woods at night was particularly a bad idea. Judy thought I should go and get my first kiss, and it wasn't like I was making a lifetime commitment."

We grin at each other.

"So, uh, what about the other girl, whatshername?"

"Well, Tammy never said much. Not because she was shy like I was, but just because she was the type to only speak when she had something wise to say. So when we asked what she thought, she said, 'I think Angela should go but not give her real name. And if she's not back in half an hour, we'll go rescue her.' Everyone agreed that was sensible. And so Ingrid was born."

She's just broken the illusion, crossed back to Angela. But I'll pretend I didn't notice. "Meanwhile me and my buddies were planning it out. Even though they all wanted to go, I thought I should go alone. But they said I should bring one of them, in case Blondie tried for revenge. And then the two Anthonys were arguing over which one was gonna get to go and see if I made out with Blondie. And the bet came out of that. Bruce Weinberger had this really nice stopwatch, so he got drafted, even though he didn't want to go. The Anthonys both offered to take the watch, but it was a gift from Bruce's grandfather, so he wasn't gonna let it out of his sight."

"But didn't you feel any guilt or discomfort over making a bet about such a romantic moment as your first kiss?"

I wish she hadn't said guilt. "I didn't know it was gonna be romantic, did I? I'd never kissed a girl, and guys that had, like Anthony B., said it was no big deal. And I figured the girl would never find out, because Bruce got some Indian badge for stealth, so I knew he could hide quietly in the bushes. Either of the Anthonys would've laughed and given themselves away."

"I still think it was an awful thing to do. Even worse than lying about your age."

"Really, Ingrid?"

She blushes and then we both laugh.

"Well, anyway, I met up with you and I thanked you for returning my underwear and we sealed it with a kiss."

"Uh, just out of curiosity, what underwear were you wearing that night?"

"Um, I guess it would've been Friday. Tuesday hadn't yet gone through the wash, although it had been out in the rain. I didn't get back on track till the next week."

I don't say that I wonder if we've ever gotten back on track since that pivotal week, or if we'll always be just out of sync.


	16. Patched

"Will anyone be joining you?'

"I'm not sure. Probably not."

"I ask because I have an extra pair of pajamas now."

Damn, he recognizes me! It's been five years but he hasn't forgotten us. Well, I suppose he doesn't get many guests, and he "remembers" Teddy Roosevelt staying here.

"Thank you, but we won't be needing them."

"Very well. The same room?"

"Um, have you fixed the ceiling?"

"Of course! It's been five years."

"Then that will be fine, thank you."

I go to the room and set down my bag. I sink wearily into the chair. I can't sit on either bed, not yet.

I know it was foolish to come here, foolishness piled upon foolishness. But just because Tony broke his promises, spoken and unspoken, is no reason for me to. And after all, weren't Ingrid & Anthony supposed to be separate from us?

While he stood there in my home office, his face blank as a stone, I tried to be mature, I tried to be honest, I tried to be fair. I did not invoke Ingrid, I did not tell him how he'd betrayed her as well as me. I'm sure he knew that. And he did it anyway.

I still don't know Kathleen very well. I can't tell you what the attraction is. Yes, she's pretty and she's sexy and she's bright and she's hard-working. But different women he's dated over the years have been one or more of those things. Hell, Frankie was all of those things and even more, although I suppose Kathleen doesn't mind drinking beer out of the bottle either.

What is the mysterious hold Kathleen has over Tony? In the entire time he's lived in Connecticut, and probably not since Marie, he has never dated a woman more than a couple weeks. (I don't count Tanya. I think she was what Mother would call an eff-buddy. Well, Mother wouldn't say "eff.")

I was so blind when it began. I even invited his study group over the next day! I sat drinking coffee in the kitchen with Kathleen while we waited for Tony and the others to get there. I thought nothing of her questions about Tony. I thought we were just making conversation. I tried not to gush about how wonderful he is. Was? No, he's still wonderful. He's all those things I told her: a hard worker, the best housekeeper imaginable, a born teacher and coach, a loyal friend.

Yes, I still believe on some level that he's loyal. And he's still a friend. I want to salvage that, and forget the rest.

So what am I doing here? I guess I'm not ready for Ingrid to give up Anthony, even though I'm sure he won't show up this time. Or will he?

I remind myself he has a girlfriend. This tryst would be cheating, even if we try to pretend, as always, that it has nothing to do with our real lives. But then Tony cheated on Angela, didn't he?

Or did Anthony cheat on Ingrid? Was he Ingrid's Anthony with Kathleen? It was his penis, but was it everything else that I love about him?

When he first told me, I was startled and hurt, but I was willing to put it aside, to move on. I didn't understand why he had to have a one-night stand when the gap between "anniversaries" would be so short this time. But, really, it was no worse than any of the other times he slept with other women post-first-reunion-with-Ingrid.

Yes, I wish he could've resisted, particularly since we had only two more months to wait. But OK, a one-night stand. One night and it was over. Well, he probably told himself that about Ingrid, too.

When I asked him if it was over with Kathleen, he said he didn't know. What did that mean? If he had said, "No, I think I'm falling for her," well, it would've hurt terribly, but at least I would've known where I stood. He didn't know. How could he not know?

Was he waiting for me to fight for him, to beg him to come back to me? Well, Ingrid will plead for sex when she's in the mood, but only because she knows that Anthony just likes to be coaxed as much as she does sometimes. And why should I beg for Tony, why should I humiliate myself like that? And was (is?) Tony, a man who could so lightly throw away all that we had, was he worth fighting for?

I don't mean to say "good riddance." I loved Tony. I still love him. I love him so much that I want him to be happy, even if that means letting him go. I told him that maybe this is just part of our journey, this time of exploration with others. I didn't believe it then but I hoped to when the pain died away enough.

So I've dated since That Night. I keep it casual with Peter. Not casual sex, I can't do that (even Ingrid never slept with a stranger after all), but casual dating. Dining, dancing, kissing. The way I used to date in the pre-tryst days.

Yes, I got infatuated with Christopher, but I couldn't be entirely swept away. I couldn't allow that. Not now.

So let's say Tony and/or Anthony walks through that door. Let's say he decides he has to keep this promise. What would it mean? Would Ingrid still be his "woman on the side," but with Kathleen rather than Angela as the person he spends the rest of the year with? Or would he break up with Kathleen, for Ingrid's sake if not Angela's?

Or would Tony be himself, needing to explain to his best friend, somewhere far away from the house we've shared for six years? (We did not celebrate that anniversary last month.)

And how would Ingrid feel? Ingrid knows nothing about Kathleen, and she might not even care. As long as she gets her magical weekend, why should she care who gets the other fifty-one?

How tempting it would be to pretend that I know nothing of Kathleen! To let Tony back into my arms, into my body. But I can't, I can't. If he shows up, I'd want to throw things and scream. Or maybe cry, to not hold back my tears like I've tried to since That Night.

I want Tony to comfort me for what Tony did. How wonderful it would be if he really were two people. Anthony could hold me as I rant about Tony. Or if I were Ingrid, able to be with Anthony like always, happily ignorant of where his mouth, hands, and penis have been.

No, I don't know what he's done in bed with Kathleen. I do my best to not imagine it. And it doesn't matter as much as that I've lost all that I had with 363-days-a-year Tony.

Well, maybe not all of it. But things are tense between us in a completely different way. Oh, I know we couldn't have maintained the giddy, flirty tension indefinitely. But I hoped that someday it would dissipate, and we'd replace it with certainty, security. But we haven't even clearly "broken up," because we were never quite together.

Yet we're not quite apart either. We still live together, he still works for me. We still raise two children together, although the kids have made themselves as scarce as possible this summer. Jonathan said that, since he skipped seeing Michael last summer (Jamaica fell during that time), he owed him two months this year. And Sam at first claimed to be wrapped up in finding a summer job, and then ran off to New Mexico, to work at a dude ranch! I don't blame them for wanting to be away. If I could hide in this motel for two months, I would.

I think the last straw was Christopher, or rather Tony's ridiculous behavior about him. They never quite met, and Tony developed some insane jealousy about my mystery man. I think "obsession" was the term Ernie, our water man, used when he told me. (Of course he told me! He told Tony about my "affair" with an employee.) I couldn't decide if I was more annoyed or amused.

Tony even followed me and Christopher to a restaurant! I don't mean he took a neighboring table and said, "Angela, what a surprise!" I mean he snuck around the restaurant, trying to catch a glimpse of Christopher while trying to keep out of sight. And he dragged poor Kathleen along! I mean it, I actually felt sorry for her. I have no idea how serious they are, but if even a casual boyfriend took me on a date to a fancy restaurant and spent the whole time obsessing about his boss's date, well, I don't think I'd keep dating him. Either she's not as bright as I thought, or she's so crazy about Tony that she'll put up with all his crap.

And I? Am I so crazy about him that I'll put up with all his crap? That is the $64,000 question. And I don't know the answer. But maybe I'll know by the end of this weekend.

I fling myself on "my bed." Yes, they fixed the ceiling. Not very well. You can see where it collapsed. Or perhaps there has been more damage since. How much can you patch things up and pretend they're stronger than ever?

I glance over at the empty bed to my left. "Well, Anthony, what do you think?"

I imagine Anthony's reply: _I don't know, Ingrid. From what you've told me, this guy always worried about losing you as a friend. And so he didn't sleep with you. And now he's lost you anyway. ___

"He hasn't lost me. But he lost much of what we had. And I've lost it, too. And it's not fair!" I begin sobbing.

Anthony's spirit comes over and sits on the bed. He strokes my hair. _I know, Baby, you don't deserve that._

"Maybe I do! Maybe I'm not supposed to be loved."

_Baby, you are. You more than anyone. If this guy can't give you all of himself, then maybe you'd better find someone else. ___

"But I want Tony! I want my Tony!"

_He's not your Tony right now. Maybe someday he will be again. But you can't put your life on hold for him forever._

"So what do I do? Fire him? Kick him out? Never see him again?"

_No, that would kill you. Probably him, too. Just stop thinking about the future for awhile. Definitely don't think about the past so much. Just think about the present._

"I hate the present!"

A warm ghostly chuckle. _You have a successful business. You own your own home, a beautiful home. You have people who care about you. And Tony is one of them, even if he doesn't know how to show it._

I take what comfort I can from his words and touches, even though they only exist in my mind. Maybe Anthony only ever existed in my mind. Well, and Tony's mind. A grown-up game that he wearied of. It was fun while it lasted, and it lasted longer than you'd expect for a one-night stand founded on an adolescent kiss.

I can't help wondering what place Ingrid holds in Tony's mind now. He always seemed conflicted, wanting to banish her from our home and needing to invite her in. Maybe now she's returned to just the first girl he ever kissed. Maybe in time Anthony will just again mean my "first grown-up kiss."

But for now, I need to imagine him holding me, cuddling me, making love to me. Because I'm not quite ready to say goodbye.


	17. Cleaning House

The house is so empty. Jonathan's in California. Sam's in New Mexico. And Angela is on "a business trip."

I know it's my own fault, I drove them all away. I'm lucky any of them talk to me anymore.

OK, I'm being maudlin. It's not like they're not coming back. I need to just see this as an opportunity, to get some time alone and think about life. But I don't want to think about my life anymore.

I know, I'll use this as an opportunity to clean the house from bottom to top, a nice surprise for when they get back. I can just picture Angela's face—

No, don't think about her face in her office, the way she was trying to hold back tears, tears that I caused. And I couldn't take her in my arms, make it all better. I've never hated myself more than I did that day, the day after That Night.

"Dad, how could you do this to Angela?"

"I thought Mom was special to you, but I guess I was wrong."

That killed me, too, when the kids found out. No, they don't know the details. Mona swore she didn't tell them that. I don't think they know that I went to bed with Kathleen the first night. But they do know I'm seeing her. I think of when they were small, so small I could carry them in my arms. My babies! Both of them. Now they're two teens with their own lives and opinions, but this still hurts them. I betrayed them, too. I betrayed the family.

Mona's the only one who's been at all sympathetic. (Even Ernie the water man just shakes his head.) But Mona doesn't understand what it was about. She thinks you can have sex and then just walk away from the person. I used to think that, too, sometimes, but now I see that it isn't always that easy.

"How could you let this happen?" That's my question, and I've asked it a lot in the past couple months.

It wasn't like I set out to "get lucky" that night. I really did go to that motel intending to study for the Art final. (I got an A, but I didn't feel much like celebrating.) And it wasn't like it was a "study date." There were five of us. But the other three got tired and left. So it was just me and Kathleen.

It wasn't like I had any feelings for her before That Night. Yeah, she was pretty, but mostly I thought she was annoying. But we connected that night, more than I expected. And you know, in the days before Angela (and grown-up Ingrid), I didn't really need much connection with a woman to consider going to bed with her. Hell, look at Professor Morrell, who came to the house with some flimsy excuse, and I would've gone out with her, probably gone to bed with her, if I hadn't objected to the way she talked about Angela exposing herself to me.

I didn't know then how much Angela would expose to me, and I don't just mean her body. She made herself really vulnerable to me, shared so much of herself, including her weaknesses. And instead of honoring that, protecting her, I stabbed her in the back.

So, Kathleen, yeah. What was I thinking? That Night, to be honest, I was doing my best not to think. I just wanted to separate that part of myself from what I have with Angela. Like when I'm Anthony for Ingrid. Every time my thoughts drifted towards Angela, I'd tell myself, _This has nothing to do with her. It's just one night._

But there were some obvious differences. For one thing, Anthony & Ingrid were always a part of me and Angela. When Anthony was inside Ingrid, I was inside Angela. We could role-play all we wanted, but we always knew that. But Kathleen was a completely different woman.

And for another, I didn't exactly start from page one with Ingrid. We had a past, even if it was just one kiss. And when I slept with Tanya and then Frankie, they were part of my post-first-kiss-pre-marriage past. Kathleen was an acquaintance at best.

Did I think about consequences? Did I wonder what this might mean to Kathleen? No, I didn't. It wasn't like when I got involved with Ingrid, where I worried what it would mean in relation to the rest of my life. I guess I thought it was just sex for Kathleen, too. But she snuggled me in her sleep, and I began to feel the full weight of what I'd done.

But we didn't talk about it. Not even in the morning. I can still see her smiling up at me from the bed. "Good morning, Tony." And then a frown as she saw I was getting dressed. "Do you have to rush off?"

"Yeah, I've got to make breakfast for everyone."

"The perils of dating a housekeeper," she joked.

"Uh, yeah." Were we dating now? I didn't know. But I didn't stick around to find out. I just kissed her goodbye and thanked her. Then I dashed out as fast as I could carrying the slide projector.

I crept home as early as I could, just in time to get hit by the paperboy. I guess that was appropriate, because I was going to have to blindside the family with bad news. Or could I just say nothing, just pretend I'd fallen asleep in the motel, alone, after everyone else called it a night?

But Mona saw through me. She read the guilt in my eyes. And she discouraged me from telling Angela. But how could I keep this from Angela? How would I feel when the next anniversary rolled around, in two months?

So I decided to tell her, but she wasn't home. And then later she invited the study group over, to make up for kicking us all out the night before. Sweet, sweet Angela. Standing there telling me I was nice, and then Kathleen chimed in.

I couldn't do this, but I had to. Angela asked to speak to me in the kitchen. She guessed what had happened. She made excuses for me, but there are no excuses. I think she could've forgiven, overlooked, a one-night stand, but I wasn't sure this was one. Had I led Kathleen on emotionally? After all, I didn't intend to make Frankie propose to me. It just happened.

Why is it so easy to get involved with any woman but Angela? Even the times with Ingrid are relatively easy. What holds me back, even after all this time?

Maybe I was looking for an excuse. Instead of saying, "I can't be with you because a) you're my boss, b) we come from different worlds, c) I don't want to hurt the kids, d) I don't want to lose what we have," I gave myself option e: "I'm with someone else."

But was I with someone else? Did I have to be with Kathleen? Could I still back out, explain that I was sorry but, nice as that night was, I have feelings for someone else? I wouldn't have to go into the whole complicated Ingrid situation. It was still early enough that I could've walked away without hurting Kathleen too much. Yes, I would still have had to salvage my relationship with Angela, prove myself to her.

But when I went to talk to her later, she seemed to be pushing me away. I couldn't blame her. She had to protect herself, since I hadn't. It would take a long time to win back her trust. But then she started talking about "our journey" and how maybe we should explore our options, see other people.

And Anthony was screaming in my head, "NOOOO!" He didn't want to give up Ingrid. After all, he didn't go to bed with Kathleen, and he never would. I think Ingrid claimed him when she gave him his first kiss, that piece of me that no one knew. (God, probably not even Marie!) Having sex sealed the deal, and coming inside her without condoms made me see that Anthony was Ingrid's forever.

Except now he's not. Because I couldn't face it. It got to be too much, that division. Maybe things would be less complicated with Kathleen.

But I couldn't let go of Angela either. Yes, I was still her friend, but it wasn't like before. And I know how hypocritical it looks to her and everyone, but it kills me to see her date other men. So far no one, not even perfect Christopher, has taken her away from me, but it's only a matter of time. And this time I can't climb to her window and try to keep her from accepting a proposal. I've lost that right, even as a friend.

"What are you doing?" Mona asks, startling me. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't even hear her come in.

"Cleaning. That's what housekeepers do."

"Tony, this place is spotless, as always. You mean to tell me you've got an empty house all to yourself, and you're not going to invite your little playmate over?"

"Of course not!" Even when I had my one-night stand with Trish, I didn't fool around in the house. It's an unofficial rule: Angela and I don't fool around with anyone, including each other, in our home.

"Tony, the children aren't around to be corrupted by your example."

"Yeah, well, I don't think Angela wants me to have people over."

"I see. So why don't you go to your ladyfriend's apartment?"

"She's taking summer classes." She is, although I doubt she'd mind if I spent the weekend. It's not like I need to take care of anyone here right now. Well, the house needs me.

"Then, since you're a free man, why don't you go to Brooklyn or on a camping trip?"

I'm about to say I'm not that free, when I realize what she just said. "Um, a camping trip?"

"Yes, don't you usually take a little weekend for yourself when Angela has her August business trips? I know you couldn't last year because of Jamaica."

"Well, uh, yeah." I need to proceed cautiously, in case I'm wrong and Mona doesn't know. "Sometimes."

"Every time, Tony. Well, for three summers in a row. I don't count the first one, in the motel near your old summer camps, since I'm assuming that was unplanned."

I'm so stunned and speechless, all I can do is sink onto the couch, unfluffing the pillows I just fluffed.

She takes a chair and says, "OK, Micelli, it's time to cut the crap."

I stare at her. "Crap?"

"I thought you and Angela were crazy having your little annual weekends and pretending the rest of the year you were 'just good friends,' but I went along with it. You both seemed to thrive on it, and I thought _Well, it's better than nothing._ But then it started to get out of control. You didn't get your tryst last summer and it seemed to throw everything out of whack. And, yes, I know you necked with Angela in Jamaica—the kids told me—but obviously that wasn't enough, so you made up some phony baseball convention in North Carolina."

"South. And it wasn't phony!"

"Tony, I'm the last person you can lie to, and you know it."

"Why, why didn't you say something?"

"Three reasons: one, I didn't know for sure, I just suspected; two, I didn't want to complicate an already very complicated situation; and, three, if you were going to pretend you and Angela were platonic, well, so was I."

"We are platonic!"

Now she stares at me. "You're serious, aren't you? Then what have you doing at your little rendezvous, playing gin rummy?"

I sigh. I'm going to have to tell her the truth. Well, as much of it as I told that priest in Charleston. "Yeah, the first time was unplanned. We were just trying to get in out of the rain. But I found out she was Ingrid."

"Ingrid?"

"The girl whose name I carved into Make-Out Rock."

"Well, well, well. Little Angela and her secret identity!"

"Yeah. She finally told me that night. And, uh."

"What?" she asks eagerly, the Mona who loves juicy gossip.

"Well, we decided to pretend we weren't exactly us. We were Anthony and Ingrid."

"I see. Well, I think I see."

"You see, we didn't want to ruin what was between us. But we had feelings for each other and this was a way to act on them. And it kept going. And going."

"So what you're telling me is that Ingrid is waiting for you and you're going to stand her up?"

"Mona, I can't go!"

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm seeing Kathleen now."

"And Kathleen means more to you than Ingrid does?"

"Well, no. But I can't just show up and pretend nothing has changed."

"Why not? You said this was a separate thing."

"Mona, I hurt Angela. I know you think I didn't betray her, but that's how it feels. Even if I weren't seeing Kathleen, I couldn't just waltz in like I hadn't hurt Angela."

"Then get your butt in gear and go drive up there for some make-up sex!"

"Mona, I don't even know where 'there' is. We didn't always go to the same place."

"Well, I'm guessing she's not in Charleston."

"Probably not."

"Then you need to go to every other trysting place you've had until you find her. I recommend taking along a bouquet of pink roses and a can of Cool Whip."

I shake my head, although she almost makes me laugh.

"Tony, it's clear that she's willing to forgive you. She wouldn't have taken this 'business trip' if she weren't."

"Yeah, but, Mone, I'm not ready to forgive myself."

"How do you think this is going to make Angela feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"Angela has more self-confidence than she used to, thanks to you. But you've recently shaken that confidence. She's going to feel even more rejected if you don't go."

"I know, but I just can't."

She gets back on her feet. "Well, maybe next year."

"Yeah, maybe," I say quietly, although I can't see the situation improving in a year. Not enough anyway.

After she leaves, I go back to cleaning. But she's right, there isn't much to do.

In my room, I come across a postcard I got at Jonathan's camp, five years ago. It's still blank. I remember later joking with Angela about sending her a postcard from my camping trip with my buddy. Even though I'm the one who's here and she's the one who's away, maybe it's time to send her a message.

I think of writing a poem, but even Brian Thomas couldn't capture all my mixed emotions. Then I draw inspiration from Allan Sherman. After a few rough drafts, I write,

 _"Hello Angie, Hello Ingrid,_  
_Kissed you one night, and it ling'red._  
_Wish I was there, to be with ya_  
_But instead I'll have to just miss ya and myth ya."_

Then I slip that under Angela's bedroom door, for her to find when she gets home.


	18. Talking Sense

Considering the events of the past few months, it's hard to believe that Tony and I are going to raise another child together. Billy doesn't belong to either of us—he's Tony's ex-neighbor's grandson—but he is like I imagine Tony was as a little boy: cute, bright, and mischievous, with big brown puppy-dog eyes.

Tony/Anthony never showed up at the Presidential Suite of the Hidden Hollow Motel, but then I guess I knew he never would. I was hurt, but maybe it's for the best. And I was touched and amused by Anthony's postcard. I haven't brought it up, waiting to see if Tony would. But he hasn't.

That last line, about "missing and mything" me. I think he meant that now Ingrid will just be a memory, a treasured memory, but of a fantasy. What we had never quite existed. It was like a myth, a fairy-tale. That isn't what I hoped it would grow into, but all things considered, it could've ended more unhappily.

In a sense, I've forgiven him. I could probably never again be romantically involved with him, as either Angela & Tony, with the promise of the future, or as Ingrid & Anthony, with the echoes of the past, but he is still, in some sense, my Tony. I realized this when Sam didn't want to come home from the dude ranch.

She said she really loved it there and she didn't want to return to Connecticut and start at Ridgemont College. She's 18, an adult now, but that doesn't mean that she isn't still Tony's little girl. And I guess she's my little girl, too, because when Tony planned to fly to New Mexico, we both automatically assumed I'd join him. And then we realized, he's with Kathleen, he shouldn't be traveling with me. But Mother wanted to go, too, I think mostly for the sunshine and the cowboys, so it wouldn't be like Tony and I would be going alone.

In fact, when I called Michael to let him know I'd be out of town for an indefinite period (since I didn't know how long it would take to talk sense into Sam), he suggested I invite Jonathan to join us.

"Jonathan?"

"Yeah, he still talks about Sam like she's his big sister. He misses her, although he'd kill me if I told you that."

"Michael, that's very sweet, but we're not really—"

"And it's only an hour and a half by plane from LA to Albuerque."

"Yes, but you see—"

"Come on, Angela, I'll even pay for his flight if you want."

Then I got it. Maybe he just wanted to give his son a treat, but I think he needed a break from two months of nonstop fatherhood.

"Well, all right then. If he wants to go."

"I'll call him to the phone."

So I suggested it to Jonathan, who said, "A dude ranch? That sounds like fun! It'll be like camp years ago, riding horses and everything."

I hadn't realized he'd enjoyed camp so much. We didn't send him again, since he started visiting Michael in the summers. But he'll be fifteen next summer and that might be a little too old to start up again.

Tony was happy when I told him Jonathan would be joining us. He's missed Jonathan, as have I, but obviously it was "our eldest" that was our main focus just then.

When we got to the ranch, we discovered that it wasn't just the job and the scenery that had enchanted Sam. She's fallen in love, with a 21-year-old cowboy named Matt! She wanted to stay, maybe go to college there. And they're engaged!

Tony had trouble restraining his temper. I did my best to soothe him, although I suppose it is no longer my place to touch his arm when he starts to yell. (When Matt met me, he assumed I was Kathleen. You know, a blonde with Tony.) I tried to be the voice of reason that Tony wanted me to be, but soon I started yelling, too: "Now pack your bags! We are taking your teenage butt home!"

I think what most upset me was when Sam pointed out that I had married at 18. As if that's an example to emulate! When I ran off to the Southwest, it was the result of infatuation and inexperience. And Brian and I came to our senses in time. (Well, sort of. We were still unknowingly married for another twenty years, but at least we didn't spend our lives together.)

It was Mother who brought Sam to her senses, putting her Psychology degree and ability to manipulate people to good use. She told me on the flight home that she pointed out that Matt could take good care of Sam, as Tony has. Well, Sam is a very independent young woman, so she didn't like that at all. She was still engaged to Matt and she still finished out the summer at the ranch, but she would be coming home.

Jonathan flew back to LA, while Tony, Mother, and I returned to Connecticut. The family would be reunited soon, although Sam planned to move into the dorms if there were still vacancies. At least we wouldn't lose her entirely, not yet.

After Tony brought in our bags, and I tried not to think of our returns from other vacations, family and not family-friendly, he told me, "It was really nice spending time with you again." I enjoyed it, too, but Peter and Kathleen had both left messages on the answering machine. Perhaps Tony and I were again, or could become, best friends, but it couldn't be like before.

Soon after that, I broke up with Peter. He was getting too serious. I liked him but that was the last thing I needed right then. I just wanted to go out and have fun, forget about Tony a little. The problem was Tony felt guilty about Kathleen and so he entered a new phase, where he wanted me to go on dates whenever he had a date. I couldn't take the pressure and started faking dates, pretending I was going out but staying home and working.

And then Mother invited me out to her favorite jazz club, the Downbeat. And it changed my life! I finally understood, after years of Mother and Tony telling me, how important it is to have fun, to be free. Of course, they didn't react well. Mother resented taking up the slack at work, and as for Tony, hm.

I was wearing an orange jungle-print dress my last night at the Downbeat. And I got up and sang "Fever." I've always been shy about singing in public, and I only managed it with Tony and the Dreamtones because he was there with me. Yet I wasn't alone onstage at the club. I realized, I had Ingrid with me, my bold, daring, sexy side.

Then Mother dragged me out into the alley to talk sense into me. I saw that I'd gone overboard, yet I didn't entirely regret it. After Mother went back in, Tony came out and we chatted on a crate. He compared me to a sports car that only goes into first or fifth gear. Maybe that's the key, to find a self that is somewhere between mousy Angela and wild Ingrid.

I couldn't help asking what he thought of my performance. He said it was "sweet." I couldn't let him deny the Ingridness, even if we don't say her name anymore. So I teasingly sang "Fever" to him. He told me to cut it out, "This is a very respectable alley." And I knew, Anthony wasn't dead. Ingrid & Anthony weren't dead. But Tony couldn't allow them back into our lives.

And perhaps that was for the best. He was still seeing Kathleen. There was even a point when he seemed like he might marry her, but it didn't work out. He told me school and "things" got in the way.

But now I'm seeing a very nice doctor, I mean dating a very nice doctor, named Andy. Perhaps Tony and I will never both be single at the same time again. But we don't have to be involved with each other to raise a child together. Even before Ingrid & Anthony reentered our lives, we were raising Samantha and Jonathan.

I don't know how long Billy will be staying with us. His grandmother is too ill to take care of him. What if she doesn't recover? What if Tony wants to adopt him? I could hardly join in the adoption. We're not a real couple. But I would help him, as I am now.

And, yes, there is still the question of what happens once Tony is done with college, no longer my housekeeper but a teacher. Having Kathleen out of his life hasn't changed that future. Would Tony move out, taking Billy with him? (Sam did move into a dormitory, but she still comes home often.) I would miss both Tony and Billy.

Or could they stay on? Maybe Tony could be my housemate rather than my employee. Billy would live here as long as he needs to. I suppose I would have to get another housekeeper, but there's room. Not a man this time. Maybe some sweet grandmotherly type. She could have Sam's room.

But what if Billy's grandmother recovers by then? I suppose Tony and I could manage the house between us, particularly since Jonathan will finish high school the year after Tony finishes college, having skipped the sixth grade. If there are no longer any children to take care of, then our lives would be simplified.

Except that would leave me and Tony alone in this house, with no more excuses to not be together. Is that what we want? Or would we try to avoid it, try to be platonic housemates, only to have Ingrid & Anthony move right in? After all, they're likely going to want to celebrate their thirtieth anniversary.

Well, Anthony's spirit told me at the Hidden Hollow Motel to not worry about the future, to not dwell on the past. My experience at the Downbeat showed me how important it is to embrace the present. There is so much good in my life, and Tony is part of that, whatever he has been and will be to me.

And meanwhile, there is Andy. He's smart, hard-working, witty, and a good cook, although not in Tony's league of course. I'm not worrying about the future with him either. I'm not trying to keep things from getting serious, like with Peter, but I'm not trying to make things more serious than they should be, like with Geoffrey. I'm just trying to appreciate him for who he is. No, he's not Tony, or Anthony, but that's perfectly fine. I can kiss Andy and not worry about how it will change our lives. After the turmoil of the past six years, seven if you count that last year "with" Michael (when he was mostly absent and we'd fight whenever we saw each other), you can't imagine how nice it is to just be contented.


	19. Derailment

"Goodni-goodnight, Angela." Jesus, I stutter when I say that. How am I going to get through tonight? Lying next to her in this little bed, on a stalled train.

"Goodnight, Tony."

And then when I compliment her on her perfume, she says she's not wearing any! How could I never have noticed all these years how good she smells? Maybe she's always smelled like this and I took it for granted.

I can't sleep, she's driving my nose crazy! And not just my nose.

I sit up in frustration. I tell her that we're kidding ourselves. "It's one thing to be mature and adult." That was what she said almost six years ago, that nothing was going to happen sharing a bed, because we're both adults. And you know how that turned out.

I talk about how our hearts are pounding and our minds are racing. I tell her, "I'm goin' crazy, and I know you are, too!"

But she's not. She's out like a light. Well, there's one difference from six years ago.

I lay back down and try to settle in for a long night. I can't fall asleep, so after awhile I start talking to her again. After all, she won't remember it.

"When you asked me at the Starlight Ballroom if I've been happy these last few years and I told you that these have been the happiest years of my life, I meant it. They have. Don't get me wrong, I was happy with Marie. I had a wonderful wife, a wonderful little girl, a wonderful career.

"But I think I've been happier with you. That probably sounds crazy, considering what happened a year ago. But even with the pain I caused both of us, it doesn't take away the good times.

"And if some of those good times belong to Anthony & Ingrid, that's OK. How did I get lucky enough to find you? I just thought, almost seven years ago, that I'd found an easy job in a great house in a safe, beautiful town. A place to raise my daughter, to help her live up to her potential. I got a new son and a new friend. And I got you.

"You are—do you know everything you are to me? How could I have done everything I've done these past few years without you? Got through Sam's teens, including that crazy engagement that's over, thank God, taken on a new kid, started college, decided on a career where I can make a difference. Yeah, you're a great boss, the best imaginable, but you are my best friend, you're my rock."

"And you're my former lover. And if you don't want to start that up again, I understand. I ruined that between us. Or maybe not enough time has gone by, not enough time to heal. But maybe someday?

"You're also my ex-wife. Yeah, I'm your ex-husband, but you've got a few of those. I'm Catholic, I never expected to get divorced, or annulled. But then I didn't know we got married.

"Or was it Anthony & Ingrid who got married? It's funny, without discussing it, we automatically acted like we'd never fooled around. I made up that story about your black teddy getting caught in the washing machine. And you told the IRS lady that I slept on the floor.

"I know, it was my fault for registering us as a married couple in South Carolina. And it's my fault that we didn't go with 'lack of consummation' as the grounds. It's just you know, I mean, come on, me unable to perform my husbandly duties? I don't think so. If it was Anthony & Ingrid having their honeymoon at the Moonlight Motel, he performed those just fine. I mean, I didn't hear her complainin', did I?

"Wow, you really are asleep. So we tried to go with 'lack of intent.' And at first the judge wouldn't grant the annulment, because we too obviously care about each other. Then we started talking about what kind of wedding we'd want if we ever intended to get married. That didn't exactly help our case.

"I almost said, 'When I marry Angela,' and had to change it to 'an appropriate person.' I said I want it to be 'because I love her, and I cherish her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.' Angela, I love you. I cherish you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I can't say that to you when we're both conscious. But that's how I feel.

"This isn't a proposal. I'm still not ready to propose, and you're probably even less ready to accept than you were almost two years ago in Jamaica. And that's my fault, too. But maybe someday?

"I was so relieved when the judge granted the annulment that I grabbed you and kissed you. It was the first time I'd done that in a year, since the last time we were in South Carolina.

"And then it hit us. We both felt like we lost something. What if we hadn't got the annulment? Would we have made a go of married life? Or would that be a bad way to start?

"So now we were single again and I asked you out to dinner. You said yes but warned me you don't kiss on the first date. Yeah, I guess you don't. You only kiss me when we're not on a date.

"Ingrid though, well. I wished we hadn't booked separate rooms that time, but it wouldn't have helped our case. After dinner, I walked you to your door at our hotel, went to my own room, tried not to think about when I could kiss you, or Ingrid, again.

"And now here we are, in this little bed. And you don't want to be Ingrid. I understand, but I'm feeling very Anthony right now. I know, I could sleep on the floor again, but I'd rather lie here being tortured by your sexy scent, your soft body, than not be tortured. But it is going to be a very long night."

And it is, one of the longest nights of my life. And then in the morning, Mona comes back from the all-night karaoke and assumes the worst (or the best). I wake up Angela so she can explain, but she cuddles up to me and says, "Oh, Tony!" in her Ingrid voice.

Then Sam shows up. She and Mona are a little too easy to convince that nothing happened. I mean, it's kind of insulting.

Angela is flattered that I couldn't sleep lying next to her. And she says that she slept warmer and sounder lying next to me than she has in months. (Since our first trip to South Carolina?) "And in a way, that's as special as anything else that could've happened."

I feel better. A little punchy from lack of sleep, but better emotionally. I'll get some coffee and a shower, preferably cold, at the hotel.

I need to focus on my speech on Medicare. There's a lot riding on this. I need to forget about how Angela smells, how she looks in her cute pink pajamas, how soft her body was close to mine, how her voice sounded when she said, "Oh, Tony!" That's four senses, what's the fifth? Taste, that's it. God, I miss how she tastes! I remember that kiss in the judge's chambers and so many kisses over the years, with Angela as well as Ingrid.

I remember kissing Ingrid other places than her sweet, saucy mouth. And soon I can't take it anymore and I quickly say goodbye. I find the nearest men's room and hope no one walks in while I'm releasing all this tension in a stall.

I do it as quickly as I can, luckily while the room is empty. I've finished and am washing my hands when Jonathan comes in and says, "Oh, there you are, Tony. Chappy said you slept with Mom, but I didn't see you in her compartment."

I stare at the kid. He's 15 now. He should not be blasé about the idea that I slept with his mother.

"Hey, it's OK, Sam told me what happened. And I know you two. After all this time, well, nothing's going to happen, especially not on a train."

"Thank you for your trust," I snap. Then I storm out and back to Chappy's compartment so I can change into something I can wear when we get off the train. These striped pajamas are a little informal. And then at the hotel I'll shower and put on my best suit and tie.

I'm gonna make Angela and everyone proud! And do my best to put last night out of my mind.


	20. Floating

_"Singin' in the Rain?" ___

"Yeah, you know. We'll have a nice night in, cuddle by the TV, eat some popcorn. It's been awhile."

"Yes," I say slowly. "It has been awhile."

This wasn't what I imagined when we dropped Jonathan off at the airport earlier today. (He and Michael agreed to their usual month together this summer.) After all, Sam lives in the dorms, even in the summer. Billy has returned to his grandmother. We are freer than we've ever been, and closer than we've ever been. But Tony wants to spend the evening watching a classic musical.

And six months ago, that would've been enough. Hell, three months ago, before our trip to Washington, it would've been lovely, a nice cozy evening with my best friend. But I was hoping that things would change now.

He had his head turned by yet another pretty woman. I told Mother that Tony always comes back to me, which he does, even after Frankie, even after Kathleen. I didn't think Christine was a threat on that level. But Mother convinced me to fight for Tony, because someday he might not come back.

She also convinced me to tell him, then show him, and then tell him again how I feel. I wasn't able to say I love him. I settled for "like" and a sweet little kiss. Even that seemed to catch him off guard. But when he said it was show & tell and he likes that game, Ingrid made me say, "We should play it more often."

And I left it at that, till our anniversary. Tony & Angela's I mean, not Anthony & Ingrid's. This July marked the seventh anniversary of when Tony and Sam moved in with me and Jonathan. I'm not as superstitious as Mother is, but seven is a very significant number. OK, even if it had been six or eight, I would've felt the need to clarify what Tony and I are to each other.

I decided to buy him a watch, something personal and symbolic. After all, hasn't time been a big factor in our relationship? I wanted the watch engraved, something to sum up all he means to me. The jeweler wasn't much help, with his ironic teasing that I must've met Tony at camp. At last I hit upon the perfect message: "It's time I said I love you."

Then I started to have doubts, especially after I told Mother. I thought it might be too forward, too much, too Ingridy. Well, not that Ingrid ever told Anthony that she loves him. But she could! She's bold enough. I'm not, usually.

Mother was convinced that Tony bought me lingerie. Talk about bold! Yes, he bought me a replacement teddy for the one ripped on Anthony & Ingrid's "honeymoon," but I think it was with the understanding that Ingrid would wear it at the next reunion. And then Kathleen happened and everything was thrown off track. Anyway, for Tony to buy Angela lingerie for their, our, anniversary would be a different matter, a statement that it was time to integrate the Anthony & Ingrid aspect of our lives into everyday life.

And then it turned out to be slipcovers for my Jaguar! Something to slip on that would be soft against my skin.

Mother wanted Tony to open my gift to him, but now I was convinced it had been too forward. Tony got me something thoughtful and practical. The watch would've been that without the dedication. I told Tony that it wasn't ready because it didn't have the "attachment." And I meant the attachment of him for me. I seriously considered having the engraving removed before I presented it to him.

His plans for the evening further convinced me that I had been premature. He wanted a family outing to the carnival. And again, a few months ago this would've made me happy, a fun family outing where maybe Tony and I could flirt a little, as we have been, cautiously, since we both stopped seeing other people. (Andy didn't like how much time I was spending with Billy, so we broke up. And I couldn't seriously start dating again after that.)

But I couldn't just relax and enjoy myself at the carnival, with this weighing on me. Mother orchestrated things so that Tony and I could have some time alone. I suggested the fortuneteller, curious to see if she could indeed predict the future. Tony reluctantly agreed to go.

Madame Alexandra predicted a change in one of Tony's relationships. He said he was happy with all his relationships. "The last seven years have been just perfect, and I'd like the next seven years to be the same." And then he joked about his barber!

I was furious, at him and even more at myself. I ran off and when Tony found me he said that the fortuneteller told him that that night he ran the risk of losing his true love forever. He thought it was crazy, but I thought it was time I gave him the watch. But I didn't stick around to see his reaction.

Before, I had imagined presenting it to him in private, his face lighting up, him shyly telling me, "Gee, Angela, I, I love you, too."

But now I figured he'd read it and see what a fool I was. So be it. I used to fear telling him, losing him. But better to just get this out in the air, completely. And be done with it. I'd spent enough pretending about Tony.

He caught up with me again, this time at the shooting gallery, and the way I felt, well, let's just say that it's lucky that I only hit a sleuth of teddy bears. He told me how much he loved the watch and what it said. I was still angry that he couldn't say he loved me, so I said I hoped he and the watch would be very happy together.

And again, I ran away from him. I guess in a way I hoped subconsciously he would keep chasing me. Because I was definitely the only person alone in a swan-boat in the Tunnel of Love. Well, alone until he climbed into my boat.

He kept insisting he wanted to kiss me. But it didn't sound particularly romantic. He finally admitted that Madame Alexandra said he had to kiss me by midnight or lose me forever. That still didn't sound all that romantic, an insurance kiss.

And then he said that if there was one chance in a million he could lose me, he didn't want to take it. I asked why. And then he blurted out, " 'Cause I love you!"

I stared at him, unable to believe the moment had finally arrived. He looked just as shocked as I was. I quietly asked, "What did you say?"

He replied, "What did you hear?", as if he could possibly unsay it. We've done our best to ignore all the things that Ingrid & Anthony have shared, but this was us. And we were both fully conscious.

After some hesitation, he admitted he said it. And he repeated it, with clarification: "I love you. I've loved you for a long time. And the only reason why I haven't said it before is I was afraid of losing what we have. But, um, if loving you's gonna ruin that, then I'm willing to ruin it."

What a change from before! At last no more fear of losing each other as friends.

I was surprised and touched. I asked, "You would ruin our friendship for love?"

He said he'd do it in a second. He'd throw it in the garbage, spit on it, and flush it down the toilet. And again I was touched. All right, it's not the most romantic speech I've ever heard, nothing like what I'm used to from books and movies, but it was so very Tony. I told him it was beautiful.

Then we leaned towards each other and kissed, a long, sweet kiss. I put my hand on his chest as his hand went on my back. I wanted to kiss him forever!

And then the carnival closed. We knew we could be locked in there all night, now with the lights off, but that didn't sound bad at all. We playfully and quietly yelled for help and then went back to kissing, now with my hand running over his stubbly hair, his other hand on my shoulder, and then stroking my arm.

How far would things have gone had a carny not found us five minutes later? He didn't seem surprised to discover a lingering couple, although he did seem surprised that we weren't exactly teenagers. "Listen, Ace," he told Tony, "it's late. I gotta lock up. You take the missus home."

I was going to explain that Tony and I weren't married, but Tony patted my arm and said, "Honey, he's right. Let's find the kids and your mother and head home."

So we did. I don't know if the family suspected anything but they didn't say anything. Perhaps they figured, as they had on the train to Washington, that if nothing had happened after all that time, nothing ever would.

Tony gave me a melting look when he told me goodnight. My own voice was tender on "Goodnight, Tony." As I went upstairs, I wished he would follow me, not just to the second floor but into my bedroom. But of course we couldn't do anything with Jonathan so close by.

And maybe it would've been rushing things to have taken it further that night, in the Tunnel of Love or elsewhere. After all, there was so much change to get used to. Tony and I had admitted our love for each other, not just the love of family or the love of best friends, or even (thank you, Mother) the love you have for your housekeeper. And we had sealed it with a kiss. Many kisses.

When I chose that dedication, I hadn't known what would happen next. How could I? I'm no fortuneteller. It was a very scary but necessary risk. And I'd been rewarded beyond my hopes.

But what was next? Now that we'd admitted our feelings, could we truly pursue a physical relationship, as ourselves, not as our sometime alter egos?

I lay awake most of the night wondering, thinking of Tony just yards away, wondering if he was thinking of me. Isn't that funny, I slept peacefully when I was beside him on the train. But then I hadn't had any hopes or expectations at that point. I just knew that it felt good and right to be next to him again.

But the next day after the carnival, when I was eager to explore our newfound happiness, he felt self-conscious about us being affectionate in front of Jonathan. I guess I should've expected that. He was always the one who was more skittish about Ingrid & Anthony in our home.

He said he needed time to adjust and maybe some practice kissing at home. But when we tried to kiss, Mother walked in, so he pretended he was dislodging a fishbone I'd swallowed. (At breakfast?)

When we next had a moment alone, he said he didn't want the family to know just yet, because they wouldn't respect our privacy. I understood how he felt, but I asked if we were supposed to sneak around like a couple of teenagers. I did not say, "This isn't why we declared our love to each other, to go back to the Ingrid & Anthony craziness."

But then it was Anthony, I'm sure it was, who spoke to me of secret moments, stolen kisses. And it was appealing, even if it wasn't what I'd hoped for.

And then, I don't know, we got caught in a web of lies and deception. That was mostly my fault, since Tony didn't seem able to think on his feet as well as I could that day. The best he could offer was signing us in at a hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Irving Gladstone, which I know he stole from Dustin Hoffman in _The Graduate._ As for me, well, not to brag, but no wonder I'm such a success in advertising. I just reeled off one story after another, although it didn't occur to me that Mother and the kids would compare stories later.

Uh, yes, about the hotel. Well, Tony had prepared a beautiful romantic dinner for two. He set up the little table where we'd had our anniversary dinner five years ago. (A night that ended in his first "Angela, I love you.") This time we were right by the fire. He put the lights on low, with a sultry instrumental on the stereo. He'd roasted a duck and chilled the champagne. I had teased him in the kitchen that I would tell him later what we were having for dessert.

It really felt like we could at last be somewhere in between Ingrid & Anthony and Angela & Tony. Loving, affectionate, but also steamy.

And then Mother showed up! My first impulse was that we should hide. I know, hiding from my mother, at my age, in the home I bought and paid for. But Tony and I scrambled to clear up the evidence of our romantic dinner, and then we hid ourselves in the back hallway, by my office.

Mother had bailed on the advertising banquet she'd promised to cover. I was very angry with her, but there was nothing I could do about it. Once Mother left, I suggested to Tony that we leave, but then Jonathan came home, sneaking a girl into the house! And I couldn't be tough and/or maternal, because I was sneaking around with Tony. In fact, we hid in a broom closet.

Tony and I agreed we had to be someplace alone. And so we went to a hotel but, as always, not quite as ourselves. We, he especially, were more nervous than in the past. Maybe because this time we would be ourselves in bed. But when we tried to kiss, we were interrupted by the air conditioner repairman. It was that kind of night.

Tony was so angry and frustrated that he ended up yanking the air conditioner out of the wall for the repairman to take with him. Then Tony ranted that the mood was destroyed and he couldn't get it back. But I knew Ingrid could. She kissed the mood back into him. I couldn't help teasing, "You are so easy."

And then we were bothered by mosquitoes. Even when we camped at the Rock, we hadn't had to worry about mosquitoes. But they were coming through the hole in the window.

So we checked out of the hotel. Obviously, we did not ask for a refund.

And then he drove my slipcovered Jag out to a quiet spot by the lake. We talked about the evening and wondered if this was all a sign that truly getting together wasn't meant to happen, at least not that night.

We agreed to just let it happen when it happens, in its own natural way. We kissed each other's cheek in turn. And then he kissed my ear! So I kissed and nuzzled that strong but sensitive neck of his. And then we kissed like crazy!

So crazy that my foot hit the parking brake, and we plunged into the lake! I suppose we could've swum for the shore, but Tony's not a very good swimmer. (He'll go on the water, and he'll go up to his waist in water, but he's like a cat when it comes to going underwater.)

"Tony, I don't think I can carry you."

"It's OK, Angela, save yourself! Remember me to the kids and Mona!"

"Tony, don't be so melodramatic."

"OK, Angela, here's what we do. You swim for shore and walk to the nearest inhabited building."

"In a little black dress and spiked heels?"

"You want my jacket?"

"Tony, why don't I just call the police on my car phone?"

"OK, that could work, too."

So I did and an officer on a motorbike showed up awhile later, with blankets and a rope. He threw the rope out to us and Tony secured it to the car. Then the policeman pulled Tony in while I swam to shore, yes, in a little black dress and spiked heels.

We wrapped ourselves in the big blue blankets as the officer wrote up his report. Since there was no other vehicle involved, I hoped that this would be the end of it. And then Mother and the kids showed up.

I tried to come up with a cover story that would cover all the cover stories, but Tony thought we should just say we wanted to be alone and leave it at that. Well, he was right before, you can't just leave it at that, not in this family. They were very suspicious about how the car ended up in the lake.

And then Tony took me in his arms and said we should just tell them the truth. They didn't seem terribly surprised when Tony told them he loves me, but he's told them that for years, in the sense of family and friendship. So he clarified that we're in love, and Mother almost fainted! The kids were delighted, as I always hoped they'd be.

When Mother asked why we'd snuck around, we both said we'd wanted time to adjust. I wonder what Mother would say if she knew about Ingrid & Anthony. I know she's been suspicious, over the years, about those August business trips of mine, but she's never directly confronted me about them.

And then the Action News team showed up. When the reporter stuck a microphone in Tony's face, he defaulted to Irving Gladstone. And it was up to me to salvage the situation with a cover story to explain how the Jaguar got in the lake. (It involved star-gazing on the roof, which actually would be nice to do with Tony sometime, although not by the lake.)

After that eventful 24 hours, he and I backed off, deciding that we wouldn't pursue the physical side, beyond kissing, just yet. So then we entered a new phase, where he doted on me, making lots of thoughtful little gestures. He called me Bunny-Lips and liked it when I called him Zeus.

It was sweet but a bit obsessive. I wasn't used to him being so demonstrative in that way. And I started to feel smothered. But we talked about it, and he admitted he'd been feeling insecure about us, because I was less demonstrative.

At that point, I hadn't wanted to be too Ingridy, and I guess I overcompensated, to the point that he and Mother called me a cold fish. So I've tried to be more demonstrative, but it's difficult to not be too warm and cross over into hot.

Yes, I've thought of suggesting we go away for some Ingrid & Anthony time, but as I said, I want to move beyond that phase of our relationship. Perhaps it was necessary between the time we first kissed as adults and our recent admission of love, but why should we drive upstate when we've got the house to ourselves for a month?

He now says, "Or were you thinkin'—I mean, I don't know, Angela, maybe we shouldn't fool around in the house."

"Even when Jonathan's gone?"

"Well, yeah. Because if we fool around when he's not here, then it's going to be really frustrating when he is here. And I don't want to spend the next two years resenting him."

"The next two years?"

"Yeah, till he leaves for college."

"Oh, I see." How am I going to last two years of not fully being with Tony? I've never had to do that before, if you count in the Anthony & Ingrid times. And it's already been sixteen months since our Easter weekend at the Moonlight Motel. So, really, it would be three years and four or five months total till we can be alone all the time. That's far too long.

"Well," I say, "you get the popcorn started and put in the movie, and I'll go upstairs and change into something more comfortable."

"Uh, Angela, when you say 'more comfortable.' "

"Just a sweatshirt and shorts, Tony."

"Oh, yeah, that's fine."

I'm sure that he was afraid I'd put on my replacement teddy or something equally seductive. But if there's one thing that Ingrid has taught me, it's that there is more than one way to seduce Anthony Morton Micelli.


	21. Sub Rosa

As I start the popcorn in the microwave, I wonder why Angela gave in so easily on us not breaking the no-fooling-around-in-the-house rule. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm glad she saw reason, but the passionate, Ingridy Angela of a couple weeks ago wouldn't have given up so quickly.

After the "show & tell" in Washington back in May, I was more confused than ever. She told me she liked me. She kissed me. Then she told me what she'd just told and shown me. But what did it mean? That I was completely forgiven about Kathleen? That she was proud of me for not selling out the old folks over Medicare? Or what?

And when I told her I like show & tell, she said, "Maybe we should play it again sometime." And then she left the room, without telling me what that meant. She had sounded, well, kind of Ingridy. But Ingrid wouldn't just up and leave. She would follow it up, let Anthony respond.

But Angela left me hanging, for two months. And then she blindsided me.

I'd decided to get back to the beginning. Well, not Anthony & Ingrid's, but mine and Angela's. Not the awkward first day and night of when I moved in, but the first time we all hung out as a, well, not a family yet, but on the road to it. Sam and I had agreed that one thing these uptight Connecticuters needed was a Brooklyn carnival. Jonathan had a blast, a kid of seven or eight, having the time of his life. Angela didn't loosen up as easily, and she did barf on my shoes. But you gotta start somewhere.

So I thought it would be good to go to another Brooklyn carnival, and there was one right on our anniversary. Mrs. Rossini had told me. That wasn't my only gift though, a trip to the old neighborhood. I wanted to get Angela something special and thoughtful, to show that I understood her needs. But nothing too personal. After she slept right through my confession of love on the train, I didn't want to rush things. We've always gone at our own pace after all.

I know how she loves her Jaguar. Hell, one of our first fights was when I had it painted red when she wanted sandalwood. I think I'd instinctively sensed her Ingrid side, but I should've eased her along, gently. I think that's one reason why we crossed the line so early on, as Anthony & Ingrid, before we were really ready as Tony & Angela. If she shifts without stopping from first to fifth gear, maybe that's partly my fault. It's like her going from demure pinks to fiery oranges. What if I'd suggested a nonthreatening baby blue for the Jag in '85? And then maybe one of those rich blues she likes after that.

As it was, once the paint job was paid off (and I wasn't in any hurry, not with needy, horny Mrs. Wilmington ready to scoop me up), Angela went for a bolder but understated black. Black is definitely one of her colors, although I don't think either of us knew it when we first met as adults. But, oh, the memory of her in her ripped black teddy! And the woman can wear a little black dress like nobody I've ever seen.

I'm glad she's just putting on a sweatshirt and shorts. Something homey, cozy. I can deal with that.

The day of our anniversary of living together, God, she looked beautiful! Her hair down in a simple but pretty style. An off-the-shoulder white dress with pink roses. Not spring roses, but summer roses in full bloom. A long skirt with just a hint of her long legs, and just a hint of cleavage up top. You know, classy-sexy, Angela-sexy. I looked forward to walking around the carnival with her, maybe holding hands on some of the rides.

And then I blew it. The fortuneteller told me about seeing "I love you" written across time. And that was the inscription on the watch Angela gave me for our anniversary! Actually, it was "It's time I said I love you." That was even bigger, because not only did she love me, but she'd obviously been wanting to tell me for awhile.

Now, maybe she meant as a best friend or something, but she had told me for years that she loves me as a friend. No, not recently, but in the past. Well, she said a lot of things in the past, sometimes drunk or unconscious, that may've no longer been true. Anyway, you don't say it like that to your friend. And it wasn't like it was a "good luck on your retirement" watch. I had no plans to go anywhere anytime soon, even after I finish college and find a teaching job. (Maybe we could be housemates. Or would that be weird once Jonathan's off at college?) In fact, I told Madame Alexandra how happy I've been the past seven years and how I'd like another seven just like them. Well, maybe not just like, but at least as happy.

All these years, not even counting our Ingrid & Anthony time, I knew she had feelings for me. But love? Real true love? She felt that for me?

And why not just say it out loud, not on a watch? Was she scared like I was, scared of losing what we had?

And it's not like she said, in her sweet Angela voice, "Here, Tony, I want you to have this," and waited to see my reaction. No, she gave me the watch, said "Happy Anniversary" flatly, and stormed off.

I found Mona, Mrs. Rossini, and the kids. None of them, not even Sam's weird date Fred, seemed a bit surprised that Angela loves me. I got Sam on her own, to ask what I should do. She's 19 now and she understands in a way that no one can, not even Mrs. Rossini, how hard it is for me to love a woman like this after Marie. Sam has always supported my relationship with Angela, in all its wonderful weirdness.

She made me see that, now that Angela had confessed her love, the only real question was whether I returned it. And I admitted for the first time to another human being (not counting sleeping Angela on the train) that I do. I love Angela.

But it's one thing to say that to my Samantha, whom I've known almost half my life and who has always accepted me, whose love I can never lose, and quite another to say it to Angela. Especially when Angela was pissed at me. And holding a shotgun. All I could manage was a declaration of love for the watch, and that wasn't good enough.

I went looking for Angela again. It was getting close to midnight, the hour when I'd lose my true love if I didn't kiss her in time. I'm not superstitious like Mona, but as Sam pointed out, Madame Alexandra's prediction aside, this is the kind of thing that breaks people up. And even though Angela and I have never quite been a couple, it could break us up. Our friendship and the promise of the future.

I found Angela heading into the Tunnel of Love. I hijacked her swan. I made a mess of explaining myself and so of course she wouldn't kiss me. Finally, I told her that if there was one chance in a million I could lose her, I didn't want to take it. She asked why. And then I blurted out, " 'Cause I love you!"

Oh God, I didn't want to tell her like that! I wanted to lead up to it. But the pressure of time and everything made me for once not stop myself. I don't know, maybe it was Anthony nudging me, because I know by now he loves Ingrid, and not just her body. And he never worries what to say.

The problem is, I worry. She asked me what I said, like she couldn't believe it. And I said, "What did you hear?" But then finally I admitted it, that I've loved her for a long time. I'm glad she didn't ask me how long, because I don't know.

I told her how I didn't want to lose what we had. The same thing I've been saying all along. But now I was finally willing to risk that.

And then we kissed, long and sweet. We even kissed after the carnival closed, and quite frankly I'd have been happy to kiss her all night, kiss her everywhere, including, uh, sub rosa.

But one of the carnies kicked us out and I knew we had to go back to the family. I was sure they'd have a thousand questions, but they didn't.

I remember saying goodnight to Angela, how she looked like a princess on her balcony, as she waved to me. But I'm not the prince, am I? I'm the pauper who wins the princess with his charm, brains, good looks, and/or bravery.

Well, I wasn't feeling too brave. Yeah, I'd just made a big leap—and not just in and out of swan boats. But what next? After all, it's not like everything was solved. She's still my boss and we're still from different worlds, although the worlds have drawn closer over the years and she won't be my boss forever. And while I was willing to lose what we had, I wasn't sure what we were getting in exchange. Because after all, there was still the family to consider.

Yeah, Sam is grown up now and even Jonathan isn't little anymore. Billy is out of the picture, so we're not waiting an extra decade or whatever it would've been. But I just wasn't ready to share our news with the family. I needed time to adjust to our changed circumstances before going public.

And so, although I didn't mention their names, I kind of invited Ingrid & Anthony to the house. I figured our sneaking-around days weren't quite over. But I was going to be a classier version of Anthony. Yes, I would make love to Angela, but I would do it with more suavity than Anthony.

So I smoothly extended Jonathan's curfew an extra couple hours (Angela did not seem to mind) and prepared a roast duck for two. I put everything on the remotes and the Clapper. I did all I could to set the mood. And Angela, God, she looked stunning, in a little black dress and spike heels!

And then Sam showed up. Now, you know I love my daughter dearly, but I mean, come on! We'd managed to get rid of Jonathan and Mona for the evening, and now this. Luckily, Angela came up with an on-the-spot charity potluck we were supposed to be going to, so Sam left. And then Angela said, with a big dose of Ingrid, "If you're real good, I'll tell you what's for dessert."

But with our rotten luck, we didn't even have the duck. Which really sucked, because—well, I won't finish that poem. But first Mona and then Jonathan came home and we were sneaking around more than I had expected.

So we tried checking into a hotel, but it didn't go as smoothly as when Anthony & Ingrid used to try it. (For one thing, I hurt my hand ripping the broken air conditioner out of the wall.)

Finally, we ended up parking in her Jag at the edge of Piedmont Lake. But we didn't make out at first. It felt like the earth might open up and swallow us. Well, not quite. Instead, when she started to "uncork me" like a fine wine, we ended up in the lake. She had to call the police on her car phone so we could be rescued.

While we waited, I couldn't help it, I said, "This kind of stuff never happens to Anthony & Ingrid."

"Well, they don't have a family to worry about."

"Yeah."

And the worst part, well, the second worst part was that the cop called the family, I guess Sam in the dorms for me, and Mona or Jonathan for Angela. All three of them showed up and we ended up having to confess to them. In a way, it felt good to get it out, not bottle it up anymore, although, yeah, it was embarrassing. But they were all happy for us, once the shock wore off. Sam even said I'd been glowing, which I guess I had been, when I hadn't been sweating.

And then we ended up on the 11 o'clock news, as victims of a freak car accident. I stressed out about the whole thing so much that I ended up with a huge zit on my forehead, just like Jonathan. Maybe Angela and I aren't cut out to act like teenagers anymore.

So we cooled things down for a couple weeks. We kissed and held hands in the house, but we didn't get swept away. Yeah, it's a little frustrating, but not as much as if we were getting worked up all the time and being interrupted.

The night after the carnival, before I knew how badly things were going to go, I offered Angela some champagne. She replied, "Mais, oui," so I punned, "Ay, who's gonna stop us?" Well, someone did, whether it was God, or Fate, or ourselves. So now we don't even start.

I did try expressing my affection in other ways, like with little heart-shaped pancakes, but I started to feel insecure because she didn't really make any gestures back. So then I tried harder, and she thought I was too demonstrative. She even had a nightmare that I was dangerously obsessed! So now we're trying to find a good balance, but you know that's never easy with us.

I finish up the popcorn, with all my special toppings, just the way she likes it. Then I carry it into the living room and set it on the coffee table. I dim the lights, but for movie-viewing, not romance. And then I find the videotape and get it in position.

"All set?"

I turn to see Angela coming down the stairs. Well, she wasn't kidding about the shorts and sweatshirt. She's got on short-shorts and the "MRS." half of the shirt the kids got us for our "first wedding anniversary."

"That's what you're wearing? To watch _Singin' in the Rain?"_

"What am I supposed to wear, a raincoat?"

"Very funny, Angela." I can't decide if I'm more turned on or annoyed. Or maybe I'm annoyed that I'm turned on. I decide I'll do my best to ignore it.

Yeah, you probably can guess how successful I am at that. At first, she behaves. She sits and watches the movie. We laugh, we sing along, it's fun.

And then she says, "Don't you want to wear your half of the shirt?"

"It's not our anniversary," I mutter.

"Well, no, not our wedding anniversary, but we are coming up on the anniversary of our first kiss."

God, she's right. Twenty-eight years, even if we haven't celebrated every year. And I'm guessing we won't be going away this year because of that summer History class I'm taking. (There really is a Prof. Hendrix who teaches about the Peloponnesian War, although that term paper Angela told Mona about isn't due till the end of this month.)

Would it be so bad to celebrate here, rather than upstate? I mean, we don't have to call ourselves Anthony & Ingrid. But we could use a little of their luck and ease.

I hesitate and then tear off my shirt.

She grins. "You're not worried about being too cold?"

"Angela, it's August. And I'm sitting next to you."

"Good point."

"Are you, uh, are you wearing anything underneath?" It must be a T-shirt whose collar I can't see.

"Of course, Tony. I'm a very shy, modest, conservative woman."

"Yeah, real shy," I say, ogling her legs. And then I crawl into the shirt so I can put on my half and OH MY GOD! She's wearing Mona's anniversary gift, too!

I told little Billy it was a hat, but it's actually a peekaboo bra! Black of course. So I can't take my eyes off her breasts.

"How's it look?"

"They, I mean it, looks great. Very, very nice hat." Then I quickly pull my head and my farthest arm out of the sweatshirt.

Now snuggling on the couch has reached a whole new level. I try to resist, OK, not very hard, but soon I'm feeling her up with the hand that's under the shirt. I can't help it, her nipples draw my fingertips like magnets.

We still watch the movie, although less and less as it goes on. Good thing we own the tape, and have the movie half memorized anyway. We soon start necking, as our hands underneath the shirt play with each other's chest and stomach, while the outside hands start in hair (mine still hasn't grown out unfortunately, although she doesn't seem to mind), and then wander to backs and then butts.

"Angela, maybe we should do it tonight!"

"What about no fooling around in the house?"

"Well, I think we've already broken that unwritten rule."

"Oops, sorry."

"Like hell you are, Ingrid."

She giggles. "So what do you want to do about it, Anthony?"

I take a deep breath because suddenly I know. "We need to go back to the beginning."

"The beginning? We were just children!"

"Not Anthony & Ingrid's beginning. Tony & Angela's."

"Do you want me to go put on my pink bathrobe?"

"Well, you do look pretty cute in a bathrobe. But I wasn't thinking quite that far back. I've just ruined your evening with Grant."

"How could you do that? It was none of your business!"

"I thought I was protecting you."

"Well, I'm an adult. I can take care of myself."

"Angela, I know you still have that sapphire blue robe and nightie set. Go put them on and I'll meet you at your bedroom door."

She grins. "After you change into your light blue pajamas and a white muscle shirt?"

"Well, I don't have those same pajama bottoms anymore, but I can improvise."

We grin at each other. We know it's crazy, but maybe it's less crazy to pretend to be your younger selves than to be your parallel-universe selves. At least I hope so.

She slips out of the sweatshirt and I watch her walk away in just short-shorts and the peekaboo bra. I want to chase after her, but I decide to be kind and rewind before following her. Sorry, Gene, Debbie, Donald. Some other night.


	22. Jiminy Cricket

When I open my bedroom door to Tony, it's not the Tony of seven years ago. He still fills out a muscle shirt and pajama bottoms (now white with blue stripes) as well as ever, although he's maybe huskier than he was then. His face is manlier, because it was still boyish at 32. The floppy, wavy hair, not all that different from Anthony's at 11, has been trimmed and shaved so that he finds it painfully short. The puppy-dog brown eyes still smile at me, but they've seen more pain and sadness, some of which he's caused.

God, how I love this man! He was cute, handsome, and hunky then, but there's so much more to him now. Or maybe I just see more because I know him so well.

It's not going to be easy to step back to that time when I'd known him just a few hours. But I will do my best to pretend. After all, if I could pretend that we were Ingrid & Anthony and only saw each other a few days a year, then I suppose I can pretend this.

"Did you have a bad dream, Honey?"

"No. I didn't even get to sleep."

"You! I thought it was Jonathan."

And from there, we try to recreate the rest of that conversation. It's not like it's a classic movie we've memorized, but we do our best. We both smile a little when he eagerly tells me I can "go be president someplace else." Because that's exactly what I did, with his help and encouragement.

And when I talk about my husband leaving me, he gives me a knowing look. That was the moment when he thought I was divorced, although I was merely trying to get divorced at that point. And obviously none of my three marriages turned out to be as easy to end as I hoped. Hopefully when I marry an appropriate person, it will be for keeps, fourth time's the charm.

He keeps trying to talk me out of sleeping with Grant, especially before I know about the promotion. I'm not sure when I'm supposed to "go off script." Or if he's going to. Clearly, he wants us to play it as if he's found the best way to persuade me not to sleep with Grant.

Then he strides over to his room and, talking with his hands as well as with his big Brooklyn mouth, he says, "Let me tell you one thing, Angela. You'd never catch me doin' somethin' dumb like sleepin' with my employer! Huh!"

And then Ingrid feeds me the next line, "You could do worse."

"Hey, I didn't mean—I mean, no offense. You're great-lookin'."

"Thank you."

"But you're my boss."

I step closer. "What if I weren't?"

"But you are."

"Tony, I could've fired you tonight, but I didn't."

"Yeah, and I appreciate that."

"You see, you made this into something personal, by telling me who you think I can and can't sleep with."

"Not telling, just, just suggesting."

"What if you wanted to sleep with me?"

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"What if we wanted to sleep with each other? And someone told you not to."

"I don't need someone to tell me. I have a conscience."

"OK, fair enough. Maybe I don't. Or not like yours. I think as long as it's consensual, and as long as jobs don't depend on whether the two people sleep together, then workplace romances are fine."

"Oh, you do. Well, uh, that's, um, a very interesting perspective."

I'm standing very close to Tony in his doorway, having moved gradually closer to him. I'm not touching him though. Now I whisper, "You're better-looking than Grant. Now if only you were fun to be with and a great dancer, I might be very tempted to sleep with you, instead of Grant. If you didn't have scruples about sleeping with your boss."

"Oh," he breathes.

Then I back away and let him digest that. I can feel his eyes on my tush, as if he can see through the blue robe. I turn around and say, "What are you looking at?"

He blushes, grins, hesitates, and says, "Something nice."

Then I crook my finger at him. He hesitates, looks around the hall as if expecting one of the kids to come out of their bedrooms to use the bathroom or get a midnight snack, and then comes closer. We're back at my door.

"I gotta warn you, Angela."

"About what, Tony?"

"Once you have me, you probably won't want anyone else."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Poor Grant."

"Yes, poor Grant."

Then we kiss in my doorway, hesitantly, since we've known each other less than a day.

"Come in, Tony. We shouldn't stand out here in the hall all night."

"OK." His voice is a little shaky, like he's nervous about our first time together, no matter how smooth and confident he pretends to be.

I go over and sit on the bed. He closes the door behind him and then looks around. "This is nice. Very feminine."

It's less feminine than it was in those days, a little less pink and lacy. But it does suddenly feel odd to have someone so masculine in here. Well, not that Michael isn't masculine, but not so obviously.

"Thank you."

"It's not what I pictured."

"Oh? Did you think it would be tweed and stripes?"

"Well, no, but you're a high-powered businesswoman. Bossy. A vice-president, maybe soon a president."

"Is that how you see me?"

"I don't know. I just met you, didn't I? But you did get me to come in your bedroom after I said it was a dumb idea."

"Tony, you are perfectly free to walk out that door and we can both pretend this never happened."

"I know. But maybe I like you having you boss me around."

I smile. "Oh, I see."

"I mean, within reason. No whips and chains please."

"What about Cool Whip?"

"You want me to go get some from downstairs?"

"Unfortunately, the refrigerator is a little empty."

"Yeah, I saw that. I'll go grocery shopping tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Hey, that's what you hired me for."

"Right. Uh, just so you're totally clear about this, I didn't hire you for whatever happens in here tonight."

"Hey, you couldn't afford to pay me for that. This is out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're too kind."

"Yeah, I know."

I pat the bed next to me and he sits down. For a moment we sit there like two shy, self-conscious teenagers on a first date. It really does feel like we're starting from almost the beginning.

"So, uh, what do you like? You like to make out awhile? You like lots of foreplay? You like a little romance? Or you like to go right to it? What?"

"Well, it depends." I wonder if I should tell him I've only been with my husband, but I really don't feel like explaining that situation. "When I, when I go on a date, I like to be wined & dined. Taken dancing, given flowers, all of that."

"That's nice," he says sincerely. "Sorry we don't have time for all that tonight."

"That's OK. We'll pretend you've already courted me."

He looks amused. "OK."

I wonder if we're again layering too many fantasies. So I say, "Anyway, now I've invited you upstairs, which I don't usually do because my son is asleep."

"We'll be quiet," he whispers. Then he kisses my ear and suddenly this all becomes easy. He slips off my robe and caresses my shoulders. "You are definitely the prettiest boss I've ever had."

"Uh, thank you." Considering his main job was as a second-baseman with a grizzled coach, and his last job was as a fish-truck driver for a plump couple in their 50s, that's not saying much. Then I giggle. "You're certainly the hunkiest housekeeper I've ever had."

"Thank you."

Then we drift into necking. We both make happy sounds but try to keep them low, which adds to my arousal. His hand moves into the top of my blue nightie, as the other hand pushes up the hem. I feel a mixture of home and taboo. Yes, this is Tony, my Tony, but he really hasn't done anything like this to me in our house before. We always saved this for our Ingrid & Anthony times.

"You like that, Angela?"

Oh, how wonderful it feels to have him say my name like that! Even if we're pretending it's 34-year-old Angela.

"Yes, Tony, I do," I whisper, and then I start nuzzling his neck.

"Mmmm, Angela, that drives me crazy!"

"It does?" I say, because I'm not supposed to know that yet.

"Yeah, it does."

"How crazy?"

"This crazy," he says, and he takes his hand from stroking my inner thighs and moves it onto his own crotch.

"Let me take the measure of your madness."

He grins and moves that hand onto mine. Then he leads me into his striped pajama bottoms. I nuzzle his neck as I pleasure him.

"Wait, Angela!" he whispers hoarsely. "I'm supposed to save that for you."

"No, Tony, you were right. You shouldn't sleep with your employer. I'm saving you from that."

He looks amused and frustrated. "Well, you're the boss. I mean, uh, God, that's good!"

"Thank you. But I forgot to warn you. If you ever had me, you would regret it every time you have another woman afterwards."

"I believe it!"

"I'm saving you from that."

"Thank you! God, yes, thank you!"

"Sh, the children will hear you. We wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea."

He grins. "Oh, sorry."

When he comes, pushing hard against my hand, his voice is soft and tender, although the words are "Best boss ever!"

"Well, I hope you'll be happy working here, Tony."

"Happy? I'll be ecstatic!"

Then we laugh together, much louder than we could've that night, especially if we'd been alone in my bedroom. We're back to present-day us.

"Ay, Angela, that wasn't how it was supposed to go."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to proposition you and make you say yes, despite your reservations, just like when you hired me."

"I see. Well, I think what we did just now would've been enough to make me reconsider sleeping with Grant."

He grins. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I would've been very distracted living with you if we had crossed a line like that so early."

"Yeah, I would've been plenty distracted myself. But I was supposed to give you multiple orgasms tonight."

"Raincheck?"

"Definitely. Uh, the offer for foreplay still stands."

"Thank you, Tony, but we're not Ingrid & Anthony. We're not limited to one or two nights alone in a year."

He grins more. "A whole month, Angela!"

"Mm hm. And I've got another early encounter I'd like to rewrite tomorrow night."

"Yeah? What?" he asks eagerly.

"You'll find out. You go back to your room, away from your wicked, seductive boss, and get some sleep."

"I'll try."

I kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight, Ing—Angela."


	23. Immersion

The morning after Angela and I recreate my first night in the house, with a significant variation, I serve her Crunchy Crawlers, as a joke. I went out to the market extra early to get them.

"Thank you, Tony, but I was hoping for something more filling."

"Oh, sorry. Here." I set a stack of pancakes on the table.

"Well, not that filling."

"No, you'll like mine." I'm not sure if we're back in our first year or if that's not till tonight, but just in case.

"Well, all right. Did you get any syrup?"

"Yeah, I got all the toppings. Allow me." So I pour on Vermont's finest, scoop on some hand-chopped strawberries, and then shake up the can of Cool Whip. She tries her best not to giggle.

"That does look very appetizing, Tony. However, I need to speak to you upstairs."

"Uh, should I bring the Cool Whip?"

She stares at me, frosty acquaintance Angela again.

"Kidding, kidding."

I follow her upstairs and she says that her bedroom needs cleaning. Oh, I think I know where this is going, so I pretend reluctance.

I tell her how nice the room is and she says that that proves I've never been in here before. I guess last night didn't happen. We're starting from a different beginning.

I tell her I'm uncomfortable in her private chamber, and really uncomfortable about cleaning her bathroom. But I hesitantly follow her.

"Gee, what a great tub!" Oh, please, Angela, please have this go where I think it's going! She's even got headphones that look massive seven years later.

We say as much as we can remember of what we said then, even her "Really, a bubble bath? I always pictured you in the shower." As if she's never seen me in the shower. Well, maybe not. Ingrid saw Anthony.

And I do my best to be scared of touching her dainties. "You don't really want me to wash your skivvies, do ya?"

We go back in the bedroom and she shows me where she puts the particular kinds of underwear. She's actually un-organized them, after all those years of arranging them by where I had to organize them back then. It still irritates me, the inefficiency of it!

After breakfast, I drive her to the train, like I did that day, although there are no kids to get ready. Then I come back and get ready for class. Yeah, I'm distracted but I'll be OK…..

…When I come home, I do the housework, even vacuuming the drapes by running the cleaner over them, the way I used to.

I'm assuming she's not going to have Professor Morell or Mona drop by. Geez, Mona! How are we gonna keep this all secret from her? I mean, yeah, she knows about Anthony & Ingrid, but as far as she knows, Angela and I don't do more than neck, especially in the house.

I do homework for awhile and then I hear Angela's car come home. Let's see. I'm not supposed to be in the living room. I'm supposed to be in the kitchen. OK.

"Oh, what a long day," I hear Angela say in the living room, only I guess I'm not supposed to hear it, if you catch my drift. "I think I'll take a nice relaxing bath."

I grin and give her a couple minutes to bathe in privacy. Then I murmur to myself, "Gee, since Angela's not home, I think I'll take a nice relaxing bath. She said I could use the tub anytime I want."

Then I go upstairs to my room and strip down. I put on a bathrobe and get a towel, a box of bubble bath, a scrubbing brush, and soap-on-a-rope. I even sing my silly song about bathing. "Hi-ho!" I'm still singing as I enter her bedroom and then her bathroom. "Hi—Holy smokes!" I exclaim as I see her standing naked before me.

It's very hard to stand here and look shocked when I just want to grin. Jesus, I've missed that body! Sixteen months is far too long. And it looks even better at 41 than it did at 39. Or 34.

Angela gasps and then wraps the big pink towel around herself. "Tony, what are you doing here?"

"Uh, taking a bath?" Not what I said then. Back then, I mumbled incoherent apologies.

"I'm taking a bath. Or I was."

"Oh, sorry. Uh, I'll wait till you're through in here."

"Don't you knock before entering a bathroom? Or a bedroom for that matter?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were home."

"I came home early." (I guess we're skipping the whole parents' meeting mix-up with Jonathan.)

"Oh. You didn't call or nothin'."

"I didn't know I was supposed to."

"Angela, I'm your housekeeper. I need to know things like that. For when I'm preparing dinner."

"Or taking a bubble bath?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'm sorry, too."

"It's OK, we just, we just miscommunicated."

"Well, no harm done I suppose."

"Sorry for walking in on you."

"Sorry for flashing you."

"I don't mind. Uh, I mean, it's OK. It was so quick, I hardly saw anything."

"Well, good."

"So, uh, did you leave me any hot water?"

"Yes, I wasn't in there that long."

"Oh, well, good." I'm not sure if I'm supposed to invite her to share my bath, or if that would be skipping steps.

"Well, I guess I'll let you have your bath now."

"Thanks, Angela. And thanks for being so great about this. Not every boss would be so understanding."

"You're welcome. Would you like me to draw your bath?"

"Hey, come on, you're not my servant."

"Tony, I would never expect you to perform a task like that as part of your job description."

"I wouldn't mind. Uh, I mean. You know, it's not that tough a task."

"True."

We seem to have reached a stand-off, knowing what has to happen next but neither of us sure how to move on. Finally, I go over to the tub, point at the faucets, and say, "So, uh, this side's hot and that side's cold, right?"

"Right. Do you want to borrow my headset?"

"Well, maybe. What have you got on there?"

"Classical."

"Sounds relaxing." She comes closer and puts the clunky headphones on me. I thank her. Then she hands me the stopper, so I put that back in the tub. Then I turn on the hot water, mixing in cold when I'm ready, but keeping it very warm, testing it with my hand. Then I pour in lots of bubble bath powder.

Just as I look at her, wondering if she's going to keep standing there or realize she's supposed to leave, Ravel's "Bolero" comes on. I try not to laugh.

I stand up and stretch. "Well, I guess I'll take that old bath now."

"Tony?"

"Hm?"

Her voice is soft but I can just barely hear it over the music. "Don't you think, to be fair, you should flash me?"

"Well, yeah, I guess that would be fair." I open my robe and flash her, except it's a very slow flash. Unlike when she did it, where my eyes wandered everywhere in wonder, as quickly as they could, I give her plenty of ogling time. She does it demurely, very Angela of seven years ago, but she ogles.

We both blush and I feel myself stiffen under her gaze, which of course I can't hide, except by closing my robe again.

"OK, show's over. Time for my bath."

Then she drops her towel to the floor. And without a word, she steps into the tub. She sits down and smiles up at me.

I know a wordless invitation when I hear one. I drop my robe to the floor and climb in to the opposite end. Now the bubbles hide our bottom halves, but I can still see her breasts and it's like they're smiling at me.

At first we just sit there, looking at each other, not saying anything, enjoying the feel of the bubbles against our skin. Then she stretches those long legs of hers, landing her feet on my hips. So I unwind a little myself.

I lightly use the scrubbing brush on her feet. She smiles more. But when I move up to her ankles, I use the soap-on-a-rope. I wouldn't have known then that Angela has very sensitive skin, but I could've guessed.

Normally, I'd be checking all along the way, "How does this feel, Baby?" or "Hey, Boss, you OK with this?" But all I can hear is the heavy, insistent, yet slow and sensuous tune in my ears. (It seems to be on a loop.) So I just watch her very expressive face and, well, what body language I can see through the bubbles.

Higher and higher up her legs, as we slouch more to get closer, slowly slowly, sweetly slowly.

Till at last, I arrive at the apex of her legs. I ask a silent question with my eyes and she nods. By now she's lying almost flat, her legs folded against my hips, her pinned-up hair resting on the back edge of the tub. Her center rests on my crotch. If it wouldn't be rushing things, if this wasn't a tricky position, and if there wasn't that whole condom issue, which we have not discussed since before Kathleen, then I would want to take her like this.

Instead, I pleasure her with my hands, slowly and sensuously. It seems only fair, considering what she did to and for me last night, although I would be happy to do it for and to her even if she hadn't. Neither of us can see what I'm doing, the bubbles covering it up. Even her nipples are now just tiny pink islands in this soapy sea.

She climaxes in time with the music, which there's no way she could've planned. Uh, unless she practiced this earlier? Hm.

Then the music stops and I take off the headset. "Uh, thanks for sharing your bath with me, Angela."

"Thanks for sharing your soap-on-a-rope, Tony."

"You want me to let you know next time I want to use your tub?"

She carefully stands up, wraps the towel around herself, and says, "Yes, but knock first. So I can invite you in."

I guess we're through in here. I'll have to come up with a good follow-up for Day Three.


	24. Chanel Crossing

Tony and I seem to be unable to move beyond a certain point. In fact, we regressed a bit the last few days. Day Three was our first dinner for two, only this time Tony didn't pour the leftover wine down the sink but instead brought it out to me. We sipped it on the couch and kissed, which was lovely, but we left it at that.

For my next revision, I chose insisting that he accompany me to my reunion after Trish made me jilt him on her behalf. That was fun. I got that black dress with the big shoulders and the bare back down from the attic. Tony took that tux out of mothballs. We even pigged out in the kitchen and bitched about Trish!

"You sure? It's your night."

"I'm sure. You'd be a much more fun date than Robert Andrew Holmby III."

"Well, I'm sure you're a much more fun date than Trish." Then we blushed, since he had a one-night stand with Trish.

"I wouldn't have dumped you the next day."

"I know," he said softly.

I wouldn't have. Hell, Ingrid could've walked away from Anthony after that night in the first motel, but she didn't.

"Shall we get going?"

"One more thing." He got Trish's corsage and slid it onto my wrist. "Now you're ready to show them how great you turned out."

"Thank you, Tony."

Then we stood up, linked arms, and entered the living room. For the next half hour we pretended to be at the reunion. Every minute or so I'd shriek some extremely preppy nickname, just to amuse Tony. "Muffy! Buffy! Cuffy!"

He joined in after awhile. "Look, isn't that Chip talking to Skip?"

"No, that's Kip talking to Trip."

"Oh, my mistake. Kip is the one who married Bitsy, isn't he?"

I introduced Tony to these nonexistent people as my "friend," rather than as my housekeeper. And then when I ran out of names, we pretended to take a turn around the dancefloor. This would've been before we danced together in real life, when Tony brought his late father's big-band albums home.

It was a lovely evening, but again we didn't get past kissing.

Day Five got a little racier.

"Tony! We had the best time! We picked up Mother, we all went into the City, we went to Bloomingdale's, we went to lunch—"

"Did you get a bra?"

"Yes! And so did Samantha."

"Yeah, what's it look like? Uh, Sam's I mean."

"It's nice. It's got a little pink bow."

"Great."

I hesitated and then unbuttoned the first few buttons of my blouse.

"Nice. No little pink bow. But nice."

And then we weren't sure where to go from there.

By this point, I was starting to wonder if the reason why we were unable to really make that great leap from Ingrid & Anthony intimacy to Angela & Tony intimacy was because we still couldn't fully accept that we could, or because we'd chosen to relive a time when we hardly knew each other and it was far too early to have been that intimate. Maybe touching each other below the waist had been too much too fast.

But it's my turn again, so I've decided that we might as well face the night we first ended up in bed together. (I thought about trying to revise Michael's return, but I know that Tony wouldn't have wanted to interfere in a marriage, even as fractured a one as that.)

"OK, let me see if I've got this straight. Mona's still in Jonathan's room. I still took Jonathan into my room. But when Sam tried to wake me up so she could sleep in the room, too, she ended up going back to her own room instead of into yours."

"Right. And then Jonathan woke you up because of your snoring and told you that Sam wanted to share your bed because she had a nightmare. So then you went to Sam's room and comforted her. Then Jonathan got lonely, so he wanted to sleep next to his mommy. But I started talking in my sleep—"

"Not 'I love you, Tony,' I hope," he teases.

"No! About the horror movie. So he woke me up and said I should go use your bed since no one was in it, because you'd gone to comfort Sam. So I went to your room and lay down in the empty bed."

He catches on. "And meanwhile, Sam was a blanket hog, so I figured I'd just head back to my room. And when I saw blond hair peeking out from under the covers, I was so groggy I just assumed it was Jonathan."

"Right. And I didn't even notice your snoring." Because I didn't when we first shared a bed. Maybe I subconsciously found it comforting.

"So, uh, are we gonna act all that out? By ourselves?"

"No, we'll start with me getting into your bed."

"Every story should start at that point," he says with a grin.

I shake my head but slip under the covers. I'm wearing that long but lowcut green nightgown I haven't worn in years. It's good to know I can still fit into my clothes from seven years ago. If anything, I'm thinner than I was then.

I curl up, although obviously I can't pass for an 8- or 9-year-old boy.

"You look very cute, curled up like that."

"Tony! You're not supposed to be in here right now."

"Oh, right." He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Then he quietly reenters, as if afraid of waking Jonathan. "It's OK, Pal, I'm back. Just in case you have nightmares, too."

He's wearing just his pajama bottoms, no undershirt or anything. I can't wait to wake up with that!

And then it occurs to me. Are we going to pretend to sleep all night? Or will we really sleep? What a waste of the nighttime! Especially since we'll have to imagine Bobbi Barnes arriving bright and early.

We do pretend to sleep for awhile, and then I stretch my arm across his face. He pats my arm, and then we turn to each other, our eyes half shut in the dark.

"Hey, Pal, you havin' trouble sleepin'?"

I open my eyes wide. "Tony?"

"Uh, you're not Jonathan, are you?"

Then we both sit up, staring at each other in the dark.

"Angela, what are you doing in my bed? And where's Jonathan?"

"Jonathan is in my bed. He said your bed was empty, because you went to comfort Sam after a nightmare."

"I did. And then she stole the covers, so I came back."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Um, I could go back to Sam's room. I don't need blankets."

"Don't be silly, Tony. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room."

"No, it's fine. It's the chivalrous thing to do."

"Tony, it's a double bed. It's big enough for two people."

"Well, yeah. But you and me sharing a bed, Angela? What would people think?"

"No one has to know. I'll slip back to my room in the morning."

"Yeah? And what about when the kids figure out that they had beds to themselves most of the night?"

"Oh, good point."

"Not to mention, Mona figuring everything out."

"A very good point."

"Hey, I got an idea!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, why don't I go sleep at Mona's, since her apartment is sitting empty?"

"Then you're still getting kicked out of your own room."

"Then you go sleep there. She's your mother."

"So then I'm being kicked out of my own house."

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, I'm not kickin' you out. But you know, this is my bedroom, even if it is your house. And, well, I feel funny about you being here with me."

"Then I'll go sleep on the couch."

"Come on, Angela, you don't have to do that. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Then you're kicked out of your room again."

"All right, all right, I'll stay! Now we just gotta figure where to put you."

"Tony, couldn't I stay for just a few hours? To sleep, honestly."

"Just to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess we could try it."

We both lie down again.

"Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight, Angela." A pause and then he says, "This ain't gonna work."

"Why not?"

"Because for some reason you had to put on a sexy perfume before you went to bed."

"Tony, I'm not wearing perfume."

"You're not?"

"No, I'm allergic to most brands."

"Oh. Then, um, that's your natural scent?"

"Yes. Do you really think it's sexy?"

"You kiddin' me? It's driving my nose crazy!"

"Maybe I should go sleep at Mother's."

He shakes his head. "No good. The bed will still smell like you."

"Sorry."

"You may as well stay so I can smell the real thing."

I blush in the dark. "OK."

He puts his nose against my neck and then sighs. "Yeah, there, right behind your ear. I can really smell you there for some reason."

"That's funny. Coco Chanel said to put perfume in places where you most want to be kissed."

"Yeah?" He kisses behind my earlobe. I can't help shivering in surprise and delight. "I wonder if Nature did that for you."

"I don't know. No one ever mentioned this scent before." (I don't mention that Michael would never notice what perfume I wore, when I did wear perfume.)

"Let's think. Where else do women put perfume?"

"Well, they're called the pulse points, where the blood vessels are closest to the skin."

"Yeah, like what?"

I hold up one of my hands. "The inner wrist."

"Yeah?" He takes my hand and kisses the back of it French style. (Or I suppose Italian style in a non-street sense.) Then he slowly turns it over, kissing his way to my inner wrist. Soft, light kisses that make me melt. "Yeah, it's strong here, too. Interesting. Where else?"

"Um, the inner elbow."

"Yeah?" He kisses down from my wrist to my elbow, also sniffing me along the way, which could be weird or funny but is actually surprisingly hot. "Where else?"

"I can't remember."

"Yes, you can."

"Um, the base of the throat."

He kisses up my arm, skipping over the puffy sleeve and lands on my shoulder. Then over to the base of my throat. He lets out a deep mmmmm as he buries his broken Italian nose in my neck. I answer with an mmmmm of my own.

"Next?"

"The, the cleavage."

He hesitates a moment and then continues on down in a straight line to my cleavage, which this nightgown shows off rather well. "Smells so good! Tastes so good! Much better than perfume."

"Well, perfume doesn't taste very good."

"And it smells like cat pee compared to you."

I giggle. "Thank you."

"What's another pulse point?"

"Um, well, the backs of the knees."

"Nothing in between cleavage and knees?'

"Not for perfume. Usually."

"Well, I guess that makes sense. That's a zone that's going to get kissed anyway, without much encouragement."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Like, these for instance." His hands stray over to my nipples, which are very prominent in this nightgown. I never realized it until tonight, which makes the idea that they would've been featured on _Eye on Hartford,_ if Mother hadn't blackmailed Bobbi, retroactively embarrassing. Not that the feature wouldn't have been embarrassing anyway, had it aired, with its lies about my sleeping with Tony. I mean  sleeping with him.

"I think no matter how they smell, they're probably pretty kissable."

"I suppose so."

He moves his nose against one. "Well, they do smell real good!"

"Yes?"

"I mean I'd have to smell them directly, without your nightgown in the way, but yeah."

I bite my lip and then ease the silk down, exposing my breasts to his eyes, his nose, his lips.

"Mmm, yeah, definitely kissable." He kisses them for awhile and then murmurs, "Couldn't stop thinkin' about them after that morning, even more than when you flashed them at me a few months before. Baby, you looked so sexy! So sexy! And you didn't even know it, which made you even sexier! Although you're pretty sexy now that you do know it."

He's no longer the Tony of six and a half, seven years ago. He's shifted into the Tony of now.

"What about you? Traipsing around shirtless half the time."

"Not half the time."

"Often enough. Like you were so at home in your body that it didn't even occur to you that maybe it wasn't appropriate to dress that way as a housekeeper for a single woman."

"You never said anything!"

"What was I supposed to say, Tony? 'Stop being so sexy'?"

"What about you later? Going around being sexy, wearing all those short skirts, when you knew I was crazy about your legs."

"If you were so crazy about my legs, why were you flirting, and more, with other women?"

"Because I wasn't good enough for you!"

My eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to see that he looks just as stunned by his outburst as he did by his confession in the Tunnel of Love.

"Oh, Darling, of course you're good enough! You've always been good enough!"

He shakes his head. "No, you deserve the best."

"You are the best. In every way that matters."

He looks like he's going to cry, so I take him in my arms and comfort him. It's not sexual now. It is almost like family, or like dear close friends.

"Why do you think I'm always trying to improve myself, Angela? It's all for you."

"But, Tony, I never asked you to."

"You did, sort of. You were always giving me advice."

"You were always giving me advice!"

We look at each other and laugh.

"Well, I guess we're a mutual improvement society."

"Yes," I say, "and look at the progress we've made in a mere seven years."

He chuckles. "Look, Angela, I don't want to keep reliving the past, but I've got one more idea to finish out the week on. And I think it'll get us past this barrier that still seems to be preventing us from having sex as us."

"What is it?"

"Tomorrow night we're gonna bake a kiss."

I grin at him. "Sounds delicious."


	25. Baking a Kiss

Angela and I don't actually get drunk. She obviously doesn't call up Isabel and Wendy so they can celebrate her 35th birthday again. And I don't go play basketball with Jeff at the Y.

We start with me shutting the front door and asking, "Did she say Happy Birthday?"

"Mm hm," Angela says like a pouty little girl.

Then I guilt-trip myself about forgetting, till I remember that at that point I didn't know when her birthday was. Now I'll never forget it. And, yes, she is very much a Gemini.

I offer to go in the kitchen and bake her a cake.

"Oh, no, Tony, you don't have to do that! Double fudge with walnuts?"

"You got it, Birthday Girl! C'mon, c'mon!"

So we go in the kitchen and I start baking the cake. I got all the ingredients this morning. She sits on the counter, "helping" me, though mostly by testing the frosting by licking it off her fingers.

As near as we can remember, we say what we did seven years and a couple months ago. After no longer bottling up my feelings, it's hard to retreat to a time when I couldn't even compliment her, and I can see it's hard for her, too.

Then she hops off the counter and throws flour at me. Our flour fight! I remember this vividly, as vividly as what came after it.

I grab her and then we look into each other's eyes. We hesitate and then melt into a kiss. It's soft and tentative at first and then more passionate, as if we can't hold it back any longer.

But then she has to break it, to say that she feels faint, so I react as cocky young Tony the self-proclaimed stud. (Seriously, I look back at my Brooklyn self, and he seems as much of a kid as Anthony at Y Camp. I've grown up a lot in the last six or seven years. At least I hope I have.)

She acts out being dizzy, falling onto the floor. So then I have to pick her up and carry her upstairs. We're both trying very hard not to laugh.

We make it to her bedroom and I set her on the bed. I get her nightgown and she tells me, "Wendy was right. You are cute."

I tell her she's cute, too, and hand her the nightgown. I'm about to leave, wondering how we're going to make this work without me taking advantage of a drunk woman, even in fantasy. Plus, I would've wanted her to remember our first time. And this is our first time, I mean as me and Angela, not Them.

She beckons me over and I hesitantly go back to the bed. Then she grabs me around the neck and pulls me on top of her. This time I don't pull away. But then she pretends to fall asleep!

I lie there next to her, with her arms around me. "Oh, I get it. We'll wake up together, but the house is empty and there are no reporters visiting tomorrow."

She doesn't reply.

So I go back to 33-year-old Tony. "Angela, I'm so tired. I'm just gonna rest here for a minute and then I gotta go to my room." Then I fake a loud snore. She giggles quietly.

I remember that it's my fantasy tonight. So I clear my throat and say, "The next morning," like I'm a narrator.

"God, my head hurts!" she mutters.

"Yeah, mine, too."

"Tony?" Her eyes open wide in shock, and then she blinks as if her eyes hurt. "What are you doing here? In my bed!"

"Well, I slept here last night."

"Oh my God!"

"Hey, you invited me."

"Oh, I can't believe what I've done!"

"Ay, relax. If you're thinkin' what I think you're thinkin', you're wrong. All we did was sleep. Just like the time we both ended up in Sam's bed accidentally."

"Oh." She sounds relieved but maybe a little disappointed. Then she narrows her eyes at me. "Why did I invite you to sleep here?"

"You don't remember?"

"Um, not really."

"Well, we went in the kitchen so I could bake you a birthday cake."

"Oh, right. And there was flour?"

"Yeah, you threw flour at me, so then we started playing with it and then I chased you and then, um."

"You grabbed me and kissed me."

"Ay, I may've done the grabbing, but you did the kissing."

"I did?"

"Afraid so."

"Oh my God, I harassed an employee!"

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, it wasn't harassment. I liked it. And I kissed you back. I'm just sayin' you started it."

"Oh. And then we ended up in my bedroom?"

"Yeah, you felt dizzy so I carried you up here. And then you pulled me into bed—"

She puts her hands to her face. "OH MY GOD!"

"And fell asleep."

"Oh. But still. Tony, I'm usually not this aggressive with men!"

"Well, you'd had a lot to drink, so it obviously brought out that side in you."

"But I didn't even know I had this side in me!"

"Well, you are a Gemini."

She blushes. "You poor thing, I attacked you when you were in a vulnerable state, and then—"

"Come on, Angela. I was drunk but I knew what was going on. You were the one who could've been taken advantage of. And you're just lucky that I'm the guy you 'attacked.' "

"So why didn't you take advantage?"

"Well, number one, it would've been wrong. Number two, if we ever did anything together, I mean beyond kissing, I'd want you to remember it. And number three, I don't perform too well when I'm that drunk."

"Oh." She blushes. "How do you feel now?"

"Like I said, I've got a beaut of a headache."

"Me, too."

"You stay here. I'm gonna fix us some tomato juice and Tabasco."

She makes a face and I laugh. Then I head downstairs. Yeah, I bought the juice and Tabasco, along with the walnuts and everything. Hm, six years ago I had to clean up the mess in the kitchen the next morning. I threw out the batter and everything. But the stuff hasn't been sitting out that long tonight.

Well, I put most of it in the fridge this time. Then I mix up a couple glasses of headache cure. Then I take the glasses and the bowl of frosting upstairs.

Yeah, I'm a little worried I'm being too forward, but hell, we've got to go forward, instead of zigzagging like this. It's driving us both crazy!

No, it's not too forward, because when I return, she's got on that black lace nightgown I handed her before she pulled me onto the bed. Only she's not wearing it over her clothes, like Mona later told me she was the morning after. The skirt part is very long and satiny. But the top part, Madonna mi! Very revealing.

"I can't believe I fell asleep in my clothes."

"You look more comfortable now."

"Yes, except for this hangover."

"Here." I hand her one of the glasses.

"Thank you."

I clink her glass with mine. "Down the hatch."

"Cheers."

We drink down some of the juice & sauce, not much since we're not actually hungover.

"What's the frosting for?"

"Oh, uh, I just thought, why waste it?"

"Sorry we didn't get to finish baking the cake."

I shrug. "I'll make you another later."

"Thank you."

"So, uh, here's the frosting." I hand her the bowl. "And, uh, I should probably go clean up the kitchen."

"It can wait, Tony."

"I don't know, Angela, we made a shambles of that room."

"I think we need to talk about whether we made a shambles of our friendship."

"No, Angela, it's fine. No harm done."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, we're still friends."

"Then sit and eat frosting with me. Like a friend."

"Here?"

She pats the bed next to where she's sitting. "Here."

"Well, uh, Angela, I mean, come on. Us sitting in bed, eating frosting, with you dressed like that?"

"You don't like this nightgown?"

"No, it's great. You look great in it."

"Tony, what if something did happen between us? I mean now. I'm not drunk anymore. And neither are you."

"Well, yeah, Angela, but you're my boss. And my friend. And I don't want you to stop being either of those things."

"Tony, if the sex were disappointing, I wouldn't fire you over it."

"Disappointing?" I'm very insulted.

"I mean because we might've built up expectations about it. It's been clear for months that there's an attraction between us."

"Well, yeah."

"I don't remember the kiss very well. But I think it lived up to what I hoped it would be."

"Yeah, it did. I mean what I hoped."

"Well, maybe the sex might, too."

"Lady, if you make love like you kiss—" I start to blurt out what I thought when I first kissed Ingrid as an adult. But I can't complete the rest of the thought out loud: "…I want to marry you!" It's too soon, especially for the selves we were six years ago.

"Yes?" she asks softly.

"Then I want to make love to you."

She smiles. "I want to make love to you, Tony."

"Angela," I breathe. Then I take off my shoes.

She pats the bed again so I sit down, with the bowl of frosting in my lap. She reaches in and scrapes off some frosting, then lightly paints my face with it. Then she kisses it off.

So I do the same to her. And then it's necks and ears. I take off my shirt and we move on to chests and stomachs, in her case the chocolate going wherever the lace doesn't cover her.

We're about to remove more clothing when the phone rings.

"Should we get that?" she asks.

"Let them leave a message."

"What if it's one of the kids?"

"The kids are safe in Brooklyn with Mrs. Rossini," I say, because that's where they would've been that morning. In real life, well, Sam's grown up and in the dorms, and Jonathan's got Michael looking after him in California.

I wonder if she'll object, but she says, "You're right. And since the kids aren't home, we don't have to worry about making noise."

"Angela!" I pretend to be shocked.

She shakes her head and then she reaches over to turn on her radio. She must've found the right oldies station, or maybe this is what she listens to anyway. Because the first song to come on is "The Look of Love."

I grin at her and then put my arms around her to lift off her nightgown. "So beautiful," I sigh, not caring if I couldn't have said that six years ago.

"Thank you, Tony."

We lay back on the bed kissing, caressing, without the frosting now. (She puts the bowl on the nightstand for safety.)

Dusty Springfield sings, "Be mine tonight. Let this be just the start of many nights like this."

And we make love, sweet and slow, like the song on the radio, and all the songs that play tonight. Because it goes on for hours. I don't mean I'm inside her for hours, but it's all making love, not just the "sex" part. She helps me take off my jeans and then my jockeys, but she isn't Ingridly greedy. She's a loving, sensuous Angela, like I've never known before.

And at some point we completely drop the pretense that it's 1985. It's 1991, a palindrome year as she points out. The same backwards as forwards. We can look back at the past and ahead to the future, but we are very in the now. Zen sex I guess.

Oh, there is sex! Everything is wonderful, but the sex is the best part of course. Being inside Angela, present-day Angela, so familiar and yet so new.

Yes, I wear a condom. I got tested six months after I broke up with Kathleen, and I'll go again when it's been a full year. And then, well, I don't think Angela has been with anyone, not even Andy, but we'll have to talk about that later. I would love to go back to no condoms with her. Not just because it feels better to me, but because I'm no longer scared that it will make me too emotionally attached to her.

"Oh, My Love, My Darling, I've hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time," the Platters declare. "Time goes by so slowly. And time can do so much."

We hold each other close, except when I support myself. Then I gaze into those luscious, dark, mysterious eyes. Do I know what's behind them any better than I did twenty-eight years ago, when I saw them shyly smiling at me from a rowboat? Am I any closer to solving the mystery of Ingrid?

Angela swims under me, like a lake that starts out calm and turns stormy. _Gonna drown again, gonna drown in you, Baby! And I still don't know how to swim!_ But she rescues me. She is my lifesaver, in all the best flavors.

God, I'm writing poetry in my head again! No one else gives me orgasms like this.

"GOD, ANGELA, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!"

"I love you, too, Tony, but we're not finished here."

And she's right. Well, part of me is finished. But as Etta James serenades us with "At Last," I start using whatever parts Angela wants to help her finish, too.


	26. Responsibility

We start to make love again, when we wake up in the morning. It's a Saturday, so the whole day lies before us. In a way, the whole month does, although of course we'll need to take breaks to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom, work, and school. And occasionally talk to other people.

Then I hear a yell from downstairs, "Angela!"

"It's my mother!" I exclaim, feeling like I'm a teenager who snuck a boy into the empty house while my folks were away.

"Should I hide under the bed?" Tony teases. "Or how 'bout the closet?"

"Tony," I scold.

"Come on, Angela, I think she could guess we'd probably get together while Jonathan's gone."

"Angela, I know you're up there! I'm leaving for the airport in ten minutes. And I'm guessing you're not going?'

"The airport?" Tony and I mouth at each other in surprise.

Then we scramble into our clothes. Well, I put on a robe and he puts on his shirt, jockeys, and jeans. I of course knock over the bowl of frosting and the glasses of t.j., so then we have to clean that off ourselves, and not the fun way either.

When we go downstairs, trying not to look too agitated, Mother is sitting on a couch arm, not looking like she's in any particular hurry herself, although I'm sure close to ten minutes have passed.

"Mother, why are you going to the airport?"

"I guess you haven't played Jonathan's message yet."

"His message?"

"Dear, I really have to be going, and you're obviously not ready. Oh, by the way, here are your shoes."

She hands me the black heels that I wore last night and Tony stuck in the toaster for verisimilitude. I blush and don't know what to say. And Tony hasn't said a word since "Let me get that stain. You'll spread it if you try to remove it like that."

"Ani meta alecha, Angela," she says and exits out the front door.

We stand there, still speechless for a minute, and then we race over to the answering machine. I hit play.

"Hey, Mom, it's me. Uh, things aren't working out with my visit to Dad. In fact, we had a big fight and I'm flying out on the red-eye to New York. Can you pick me up? It'll be Flight 232, Tower Air. I should get to LaGuardia around 10 a.m. Thanks! See you soon."

"Oh, my poor baby!"

"Uh, should we try to catch up with Mona?"

"No, I don't feel like explaining to her."

"Angela, I told you, she must've guessed."

"Oh, Tony, I'm such a bad mother!"

"What are you talking about? You're a great mother!"

"No, I neglected my child for my lover."

"OK, first of all, the 'child' is fifteen, and he's supposed to be under the care of his father."

"Yes, and I knew how irresponsible Michael is. And I trusted him with Jonathan anyway."

"Angela, just because Michael isn't exactly Father of the Year doesn't mean you're a bad mother for letting him see his son. And it's not like Jonathan's been injured or something. They just had a fight."

"A bad enough fight that Jonathan is coming home as soon as he can."

"Well, if you were such a bad mother, he wouldn't want to come home."

"But I won't even be there to greet him!"

"Angela, there's still time. We can hop in my Jeep and I'll drive us to LaGuardia."

"Thank you, Tony, but I think you and I need to talk."

"Talk?" He sounds nervous, so I take his hand and lead him over to the couch.

We sit down and I say, "It's been a wonderful week."

He smiles. "Yeah, it has."

"Especially last night. I feel like we've finally connected, not just with each other, but with all the bits and pieces of ourselves."

He nods. "Yeah, it was even better than I thought it would be."

"For me, too. And I'd hoped to have a whole month of it. But now we can't."

"Yeah."

"Tony, I know one of the big reasons you hesitated to be with me was because of the children. And I know that that's made a difference for me, too. We've always worried about how it would affect the kids. And even though they're older now, it doesn't necessarily make it easier. After all, they've invested a lot in our relationship, too."

He nods again. "They've always wanted us to be together. I mean, at least after the first year or so. And God forbid we break up, they'd be hurt."

"Yes. I don't think that's any reason to not pursue this relationship, but it is a factor. Also, well, I know that the No Fooling Around in the House rule exists for a reason. When Joanne Parker and other people used to spread gossip about us—"

I break off, but he immediately reads my mind. "Without even guessing about Anthony & Ingrid."

"Right. Even though we did our best to behave when we were our real selves, people still made assumptions. And now that it's true, well, we're going to have to proceed very cautiously."

"Yeah, it's not going to do Jonathan any favors if people know his mom's bangin' the housekeeper."

"Tony!" I'm shocked and hurt. "That's not how I see it!"

"I don't either, Baby. I made love with my best friend, the woman I love. But I'm just saying how some people will see it. And they may be a lot cruder about it than that."

"So what do we do, Tony?"

"Well, it may be a little late for this, but can we pretend to the outside world that we're not fooling around?"

"You mean, we're dating while living in the same house but we're keeping it clean?"

"Yeah, why not? I mean, yeah, some people won't buy it, but they'd think something was going on even if it wasn't. But it might make it easier on the kid. And Sam, too, although she's kinda got her own life now."

I sigh. "I was hoping we could be free to express who we really are."

"We will be. In private. The world doesn't have to know."

"But when can we be in private?"

"Angela, we managed to live mostly Ingrid-free 363 days a year for a few years."

"Yes, but it wasn't easy."

"Well, no. I guess if the pressure gets to be too much, well, we'll slip away for a weekend alone."

"And I'll take a business trip while you visit the old neighborhood?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we'll go as ourselves. But we don't have to advertise it."

I smile mischievously. "Those would be some fun jingles to write."

He kisses me and it's very tempting to go back upstairs, but Jonathan will be home in a few hours and I still feel too guilty. I think Tony does, too, because he says something about fights with his "old man." I never met his father, but I think the two men adored each other. I'm glad I was able to help Tony clear out his father's apartment years ago, after Matty's death. I didn't know Tony very well then, and it might not have been something I'd have done for other housekeepers, but I already wanted to be his friend, his good friend.

It won't be easy to be just affectionate, not sexual, with Tony now, but on the other hand, for a long time we couldn't freely be affectionate. Just being able to kiss Tony in front of the family is liberating.

Still, the tension may get unbearable at times. I don't want either of us to resent Jonathan's presence. This is his home and we both love him. We like having him around. It's not like he's some unkempt, sulky, foul-mouthed teenager. He's a good kid. OK, he's got a very sarcastic mouth, but that runs in the family.

Although I had hoped to say goodbye to Ingrid & Anthony as separate entities from us, by incorporating them into our holistic selves, it seems that's not yet possible. So if we have to celebrate another "anniversary," even if it ends up not being on "the right day," then we will.

I go upstairs and take a bath. I invite Tony to join me but he doesn't think it's a good idea now. He waits till I return, fully dressed, before he goes up and takes a shower.

I spend the time waiting for Jonathan by working on an account. I haven't been bringing home as much work this past week, wanting to be able to focus on Tony. But there's always something that needs polishing.

After his shower, Tony cleans up the kitchen and then does some homework. We don't sit too close on the couch, but we do look up and smile at each other now and again. When it gets close to noon and we start to wonder if Mother is indeed bringing Jonathan home, Tony goes to the kitchen to make lunch. I'm not surprised that he's planning some of Jonathan's favorites. Jonathan's homecoming is three weeks before we expected, but it is still welcome. Yes, we sometimes wish we were free, unencumbered singles, but part of our bond is our shared parenthood and sense of responsibility.

Before the food is ready, Jonathan and Mother enter the front door. "Sweetheart!" I cry and run to him. He doesn't object to my big hugs and kisses.

"I guess you don't mind that I cut my vacation short."

"Of course not, Darling! I'm, uh, sorry I wasn't there to greet you at the airport."

"It's OK. Grandma explained."

"She did?" Oh no!

"Yeah, how you were up late working on an account and you didn't hear my message till this morning and you were too groggy to go."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry."

"It's OK. I enjoyed talking with Grandma. She really hates Dad."

"Mother!"

"Lighten up, Angela. I just let the kid vent about his father. He's a teenager. He needs that."

"Jonathan, sit down. Tell me what happened."

"Excuse me, I think I'll go see what Tony's making for lunch." Mother exits to the kitchen as Jonathan and I sit on the couch.

"Well, it was about me getting a summer job."

"Sweetheart, you're 15. You don't have to get a job yet unless you want to. Michael shouldn't have pressured you about it, especially when you're on vacation and he doesn't get to see you that often."

He shakes his head. "Mom, I want a summer job."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yeah, I'll be 16 in a few months and I'd really like my own car. Girls don't take you seriously in high school unless you have a car, and since I skipped a grade, the pressure is even worse."

"Oh, I see."

"Well, Dad didn't. I mean, he got the part about impressing girls, but he thought I should just be a 'beach bum' for a month. You know, swim, surf, have fun. And I wanted to do some of that of course, and it's not like there aren't girls on the beach. But there was also this chance as a busboy at a local restaurant, a few hours a week for a few weeks. And Dad said I was just like you."

I try not to laugh. "Oh?"

"You know, you work too hard, you don't know how to have fun."

"I see."

"I mean, I don't see you that way. I'm just saying what he said. And maybe you were that way before you met Tony, but you've loosened up a lot in the past seven years. I think I have, too, because of him and Sam. But we all, Sam and Tony, too, know how to work hard for what we want. Dad doesn't."

"Sweetheart, your father works very hard on his documentaries."

"I guess. But he also thinks you can just pick up and leave when something more interesting comes along. So I said, 'Well, I guess I'll just pick up and leave. Because I don't find you interesting anymore.' "

"Jonathan!"

"And then he said, 'Yeah, you're not the kid who used to dump buckets of water on people's heads.' So then I said, 'Well, here's a bucket for you. I'm going to catch the next flight back to New York.' And then he said, 'Great. I'll happily pay for your ticket.' "

Michael was never very good at deescalating an argument.

"I didn't want anything from him, but I couldn't afford to change my flight myself. So I went along with it. But Grandma said she'll be happy to reimburse Dad."

I'm very surprised. Mother doesn't usually pay for anything she doesn't have to. And I know I should encourage Jonathan to make up with Michael, but right now I can't help being glad he's chosen his life here and the values we've taught him.

And, yes, if deferring fun with Tony will set a better example, then that's the way it has to be.

Tony pokes his head through the swinging door. "Lunch is served."

"Great! I missed your cooking, Tony."

"Welcome home, Pal-o-Mine."


	27. Results

"Will it be your usual room, Sir?"

"My usual—Oh, right, the Presidential Suite. Yeah, thank you."

He holds up the key but before he hands it over he says, "Is there a reason you two no longer check in together?"

"Uh, yeah, but it's none of your business." I swipe the key out of his hand.

"Have a pleasant stay."

"Thanks," I mutter.

I go to the "suite," and set down the bag. I can't face getting into bed yet. So I sit in the chair, the chair I fell out of seven years ago, trying to sleep in it, which led to Angela suggesting we share that bed.

I know it's crazy to be here. And not crazy like it was seven years ago.

And I know she probably won't show up. Why should she, after all the mistakes I've made this past year? Here's a list, in mostly chronological order:

-The smothering thing I already told you about. Result: nightmares, including mine.

-I got Jonathan a job as a ballboy, when Angela had already made it very clear that she didn't think anyone should use their influence to get him a job. Results: Angela got angry and the Mets lost their chance at the World Series.

-I took her out to dinner and my credit card was declined. Result: humiliation for us both.

-Soon after that, I went to a charity auction at Angela's country club (I had to use her name to get in), and I told her friends the story of my credit card being declined. Result: further humiliation for us both.

-At the auction, I spent $2000 on a painting for Angela. Result: debt.

-So then I took Ernie's advice and got a job moonlighting as a waiter, except that it was at Willy & Guillermo's and I had to wear a skimpy outfit. Results: humiliation for me, and for Sam when she came in with some friends.

-I confessed to Angela what I'd done and told her I didn't know if I could handle this, dating someone with so much more money than I have. Result: a near break-up.

-You think all that's bad? Wait till I tell you about what happened when I proposed to her. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I proposed. But it's not as romantic as it sounds. See, one of my childhood friends died, Joey C., and I realized how short life is. So I went into this midlife-crisis risk-taking mode, including taking the family skiing. Results: Angela's face was badly chapped by the wind and she hurt her neck and legs going down a slope I was scared of.

-Mona convinced me I was actually looking for something permanent, like marrying Angela. Sam suggested I propose on a romantic sleigh ride. Result: Angela getting a ton of snow dumped on her by a passing snow machine.

-I took her inside, brushed the snow off her, ordered some tea, set her by a nice warm fire, and unwrapped her bandages, so that she could be comfortable while I made a passionate, heartfelt proposal. Results: I set her bandages on fire and put it out with hot tea.

-I tried again at dinner, trying to take Mona's advice to drop the ring she loaned me into Angela's champagne glass, when Angela wasn't looking. Results: I accidentally dropped the ring in Angela's mashed potatoes, and when she bit into it the crown of her tooth came loose.

-Yet somehow, even though I put her through all that, she said yes. But when I put the ring on her finger, she recognized the ring, so I explained how much Mona and the kids encouraged me. Results: she decided that I wanted to marry her for the wrong reasons and she gave me back the ring.

-I came up with an elaborate scheme to get Angela to go to a Giants game with me so that I could propose to her via the Goodyear blimp. Results: Angela felt embarrassed getting such a public proposal, and I felt embarrassed getting such a public rejection.

-I got so unsure of myself that in the end, she had to propose to me. Yeah, I accepted. That wasn't a mistake, I thought. But then I decided to lick all the envelopes for the wedding invitations. Results: an allergic reaction to the glue, which I thought was an allergy to Angela, almost leading to the cancellation of our wedding.

-I let the guys riding me about being "hen-pecked" get to me so much that I lied to Angela to get out of going to see the ballet with her. (And I actually like the ballet enough that I once pressured Samantha into dance lessons.) Results: the guys ended up riding me even more when they found out the truth, and Angela was really pissed off at me.

-I ignored Angela's wish for a simple wedding in a little chapel. Result: Sam ran off to the chapel with Hank, a guy she'd only been dating a couple months!

-Later I befriended my son-in-law, including helping him look at a possible apartment for the two of them. Results: Sam pissed at Hank, Angela pissed at me.

-Then when I tried to reconcile Sam and Hank, Angela got really pissed at me.

-When Angela and I decided to remodel her room, to make it more couple-friendly, we hired Hank's father, Joe. But I ended up pissing off Joe and taking over the job myself. Results: Jonathan getting nailed in a wall, my butt crashing through the attic floor, and my relationship with Angela being strained.

-I finally graduated. I was no longer Angela's housekeeper. Two barriers gone. But I needed a good teaching job and that wasn't so easy to find. Until I heard from Wells Junior College in Branford, Iowa. They wanted me as an associate professor. And Angela urged me to take it, to do something for myself. And I listened to her. Result: me and Angela went crazy trying to coordinate our schedules for our long-distance relationship.

-So she agreed to put her life in the East on hold and move to Iowa, for the rest of the year I'd be at Wells. I thought we would finally be alone together. Result: living in sin, since we agreed to postpone the wedding till we returned to Connecticut.

-With my encouragement, Angela, the most sophisticated woman I've ever known, got a little too acclimated to the Midwest. And some of her pent-up energy that used to go into her ad agency went towards sex (which was great), but also towards knitting and watercolors. Results: tired Tony, and lots and lots of afghans and paintings of cornfields.

-I got offered a three-year contract and wanted to take it, but she admitted how hard it was to be away from her agency. Result: a standoff where everyone loses and there are no easy solutions, or even hard ones.

I haven't seen her in a month. I hear about her from Sam, who's still living in Mona's apartment with Hank. Uh, that's my fault, too, though I meant well at the time. Hell, I almost always mean well. But you know what they say about good intentions.

I didn't tell Sam or anybody I was coming here. I almost didn't come here. I mean, why go all the way from Iowa to here? But Anthony made me.

You know, she technically proposed to him. She got down on one knee and took my hand. She began, "Tony," but I said, "At a moment like this, I prefer 'Anthony.' " Yeah, I'm Anthony, except when I'm not.

And she is Ingrid, and a lot of other women, including whatever you want to call Ms. Bower, the successful businesswoman. And I love that about her, but it's so tough pleasing all of them.

"I could always please you though, couldn't I, Ingrid?" I address the furthest empty bed, where I can still picture her sitting in the pajama top.

And then I swear I can almost hear her reply: _Tony, you two divided yourselves up into little pieces from the beginning, the first day she hired you. Maybe it was too early for me and Anthony to reenter your lives, but maybe you should've worked with us. You convinced yourselves you weren't good enough for the other. You let your insecurities take over, again and again. Yes, you pleased me in bed, very much. But you also frustrated me in other ways._

"Frustrated you?"

_You wouldn't accept me in everyday life. You kept wanting to pretend Angela was some ice princess._

"I had to. How else could I live with the woman I was crazy about?"

_You could've asked her to marry you years ago._

"What? 'Thank you for hiring me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?' "

_Not that early, but later, when you not only had feelings for her but were building a life with her._

"I was scared. You know that."

_It seems like you're scared of a lot of things, Anthony Morton Micelli._

"Hey, watch the Morton stuff."

She laughs a ghostly laugh. _I guess it's a good thing you didn't create other alter egos, maybe Morton and Katherine to represent your cozy, domestic side._

"Yeah, well, that's never exactly been a side we've had to suppress."

_Tony, go to her. You're so close to Fairfield now._

"No, I can't. Angela knows this is our anniversary. If she wants to see me, she can meet me here."

_You're a very stubborn man, Tony._

"Yeah, well, she's stubborn, too. And there's only so long you can butt heads with someone before you get a headache.

And then, I must be going crazy, but I can see her float over to me, feel her rub my scalp, my neck, my shoulders. God, I miss Angela's touch! I can't stand the idea that I'll never feel her again, not even a touch on my arm.

But I can't go to her. We'd just end up arguing again about how she doesn't want me to regret giving up my bright future.

The most I can hope for is that she'll show up before this weekend is over and help me celebrate Anthony & Ingrid's twenty-ninth anniversary. Then we'll go back to the separate lives we've chosen. And maybe two days a year was all we were ever meant to have.


	28. Division

"Angela, what are you doing here?"

I look up from the work I brought home. "Uh, I live here."

"Shouldn't you be off on a business trip?"

"Mother, you're my secretary. You know I don't have any business trips planned this month."

"Not even to woo back the Lincoln account?"

I stare at her. "How long have you known?"

She sighs and sits next to me on the couch. "I suspected for a long time. And Tony confirmed it two summers ago."

"Two summers ago." The summer he didn't go because of Kathleen. Neither of them told me, even afterwards. "All this time. You pretended to really think Tony and I weren't, weren't involved. Physically I mean."

"Well, that's what you two were pretending, even after you finally, finally! Finally admitted you were in love. Even after you were engaged. Hell, it was bad enough that Tony moved me into Sam's teenage-girl bedroom, and then I had to share it with my bony daughter during the remodeling!"

"Well, Mother, it wouldn't have been right for me to stay in Tony's room when Jonathan was in the house."

"And those were your only two options? Couldn't you have had a little Ingrid & Anthony time?"

"So you know about that part, too," I say quietly.

"Not in nitty-gritty detail. But, yes. And this is their twenty-ninth anniversary this weekend, isn't it?"

"Well, yes."

"So again, I ask, what are you doing here?"

"Mother, I know you mean well. And I know it's hard on you, after all your hopes for me and Tony. But it just can't work. We're two people who were never meant to get together."

"You really believe that, Angela?"

"Mother, I don't want to believe it. But I have to. We tried. We tried really hard. We did everything we could to make it work, but we just couldn't."

"So you're going to just throw away eight years?"

"Mother."

"All right, fine, if you don't want to be with Tony, then don't be with Tony. But have you considered poor Ingrid?"

"Mother, I'm Ingrid."

She shakes her head. "She may be a part of you, but I don't think she's been around here lately. Which is a shame, because it sounds like she took after me, like you took after Robert."

"Mother, please don't encourage my schizophrenia. It's caused enough problems."

"You think that's what caused your problems?"

"Well, some of them."

"Angela, I will freely admit that when I encouraged you to hire Tony, one of my motives, in addition to the hope of a male role model for my weird grandson, a clean house to visit, and of course good Italian cooking to mooch, was I also hoped for a sexually satisfied daughter."

"Mother!"

"Angela, I saw the men you went out with before and after Michael. Stiffs, and not in a good way. I sensed that Tony's warmth and passion were just what you needed. And he thought you were beautiful when I showed him your picture. So I just had to get him in the house and let nature take its course. But then you two had to go and be Ingrid & Anthony on the side!"

I can't help laughing. "Pretty sneaky of us, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But it looks like you shot yourselves in the foot while trying to foil me. Because now you're depriving Ingrid of Anthony. And that's a rotten thing to do to your alter ego."

I can't laugh this time. She's right, in her own warped way. Trying not to cry, I say, "What makes you think Tony's waiting for me?"

"Just a feeling. The same feeling I had when you were probably waiting for him two years ago."

She knows too much. But it's comforting in a way, to share this secret with her. "I was," I say quietly. "I know it was wrong. He was with Kathleen then."

She shakes her head. "He was never with Kathleen. Not really with her. His body, yes, but never his heart, never his soul."

"Well, unfortunately the part that was with her was the main part that Anthony offered Ingrid."

"I doubt that's true. I doubt it was ever just a little fling for you two. I think you could no more keep your hearts and souls out of it than you could keep your lust out of your close, 'platonic' friendship."

I don't know how to reply to that.

"Angela, go to him. If you can't return to him in Iowa, then just go upstate."

"Mother, I can't. I can't be divided like that anymore. It was bad enough when we lived in the same house and we had the hope of a reunion every summer. But what am I supposed to do? Drive up there, be with him for two days, and then not see him again for another year?"

"You could ask him to move back to Connecticut."

"Mother, I told you, I can't! He's building a wonderful life for himself there."

"How wonderful can it be if you're not there to share it?"

"What am I supposed to do? Move back to Iowa?"

"Of course not, don't be an idiot. You were miserable inside."

"Well, I don't want Tony to be miserable here, not finding a job, or only finding jobs that are nowhere near as good as what he's got at Wells."

"Angela, why do you make yourself miserable? That's my job, Dear."

"Thank you, Mother."

"Look, once and for all, what is preventing you from being with Tony?"

"You want a list?"

"Ugh. I give up, for now. I'll try again when it's time for your thirtieth."

"Thank you." I'm not sure if I'm thanking her for quitting, or for promising to try again.

After she leaves, I do start a list, well, a mental one. I'm not going to review the entire eight years. Just the most recent year.

-I rejected both of Tony's marriage proposals. The first because it had been a disastrous weekend and I thought he was only doing it since Mother put him up to it; the second because I thought he was overdoing it, making a statement, with a blimp and everything.

-After Tony accepted my proposal (yes, I had to make it, because I'd shattered Tony's confidence), I let my grandmother undermine our relationship.

-When my business was in a slump and I let Tony manage the budget, including my credit cards, I went behind his back and tried to buy a moo-cow creamer.

-When Tony seemed to have developed an allergy to me, his lips swelling up after we kissed, I assumed that he was scared of getting married, when I was the one who was scared. (And it was the glue on the wedding invitation envelopes anyway.)

-I got tired of Tony's competitiveness and temper, until I met his lookalike who was far too mellow for my taste.

-And, yes, I shared a bed with Mother when my bedroom was being remodeled. The worst part, Tony and I never did find the chance to sneak off and have a private weekend. The sexual tension got unbearable at times, in a different way than before. OK, I admit that sometimes I amped it up, to get what I wanted from Tony, whether it was an open jam jar or a winning basket. But I tried not to be too Ingridable, since that would've been too cruel, to myself as well as Tony.

-The Idaho, I mean Iowa, interlude was a series of mistakes, on both our parts. As I told Mother, this is what finally convinced me to give up. Tony and I both tried so hard, and it only made it worse.

The truth is that maybe we "needed Iowa," in the same way as we "needed Kathleen," to show us the cracks and flaws in our relationship. I love Tony dearly. I will probably never be able to feel that kind of love for anyone ever again. But you know, I am grateful that I had the chance to fall in love like that, truly and deeply, in every way. I'm a richer person for having known Tony. I don't regret the experience in the slightest, no matter what the pain. As I told Dr. Bellows five years ago, I've never been so happy and so sad.

It's like I never really felt things before Tony. But that doesn't mean I can open myself up again that much. Not yet. I need more time to heal. To go to the Hidden Hollow Motel, or wherever he's staying, if he did indeed try to celebrate our anniversary, would undo everything that's happened in the past month. And it would be a regression to Anthony & Ingrid, and I don't want that anymore. It's not enough. And it's too much.

And I don't think it'll be any easier a year from now. But, if he's still single and if he still wants Ingrid when our fiftieth rolls around, then, yes, I'll be there. But I'm not telling Mother that of course.

And, yes, I think Anthony will make a very handsome and sexy sixty-one-year-old.


	29. Thirtieth

I make a toast: “To Jonathan, for leaving for college a couple weeks early so we could celebrate our thirtieth anniversary on time.”

She laughs and clinks her glass, but she shakes her head. “To think that he suspected all these years.”

“Well, he told me that Sam used to write to him in California about how I always seemed to take my weekends off when you had an August business trip. And she told him at some point how our ‘first kiss’ stories sounded suspiciously alike.”

“To Sam,” she toasts and we clink.

“Yes, and to Hank for getting that job as a therapeutic puppeteer at the children’s hospital, so they could afford to move out of Mona’s apartment and she could move back in.”

We clink again.

“To Mother.”

“To my wonderful, crazy, interfering, irritating, but lovable mother-in-law.”

“Yes, to her.”

We clink.

“To our finally, if temporarily, empty nest.”

My jaw drops. “Angela, you’re not—?”

“No, Tony, I’m still on the Pill. And we agreed that if we are going to have a child together, we should wait another year or two to see if that’s what we want to do with the rest of middle age.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I mean, in a way, it’s kind of nice to be done with all that. And on the other hand, we would’ve made beautiful babies together.”

“Yes, we would,” she says softly.

I notice the change in verb tense. I want kids with her, but she’s 43, so there’s not a lot of time left. And I love that we can finally have time together. “I wish that we hadn’t wasted so much of the past thirty years.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t think of it as wasted. We wouldn’t be who we are if we hadn’t has those experiences. And I wouldn’t want you to have never met Marie, to never have had Samantha.”

“Yeah, even though Michael’s a jerk, I’m glad you knew him, or we wouldn’t have Jonathan.”

She smiles. “Is it funny that I already miss Jonathan? Even though he’s usually not around in August.”

“No, I miss him, too. Because he won’t be back till Christmas. Oh, is that what you meant by the temporarily empty nest?”

“Yes. Sorry to get your hopes up. Or frighten you as the case may be.”

“To Michael and Marie?”

“Yeah, why not?”

We clink.

I hesitate and then I say, “To Anthony and Ingrid?”

She clinks. “To Anthony and Ingrid. May they have as wonderful a thirtieth anniversary as we are.”

I grin at her. I’m so glad I came back to her. Yeah, we missed our twenty-ninth and a few other anniversaries along the way. But we’ve been married almost a year now, and there have been other celebrations. Hell, every day with Angela is a celebration.

I’ll admit I wasn’t sure about coming back to her, especially after she, or Ingrid anyway, stood me up at the motel. But I realized later, I’d never actually invited her. Not that she necessarily would’ve gone if I had invited her, but I couldn’t expect her to be a mind-reader. I guess my pride got in the way.

And we’d been doing that pull-close-push-away dance for so long, it was hard to break the habit. Insecurities on both sides, miscommunication, bad timing, you name it. In some ways, it’s a wonder we ever connected at all.

I got a teaching award and realized that she was the person I most wanted to show it to, because I still loved her so much. And because she was the person who most encouraged me to become a teacher, with all the little steps leading up to it, even before I thought about going to college, like when she was my campaign manager for the PTA. So I took the next flight I could, with my tux and with my award. I wanted to show up on her doorstep looking like a success, and lay that at her feet like a knight presenting the dragon’s head to the princess.

And I knew she wouldn’t turn me away. She would at least be proud of me as a friend. But I didn’t want just her friendship.

I took a risk, the biggest risk I’ve ever taken, and said that we’d both been wrong. We were wrong to try to live apart, to give up on us. She said she didn’t want me to resent anything, and I said all I resented was not being with her.

Yeah, I had a great job at Wells. But now I have a good job at Ridgemont and I love being able to come home to her. Our home, the house I kept all these years.

Yeah, I still do some of the housework. She pitches in, and Jonathan took on some of it, and even Mona contributed a little. Now that it’ll just be the two of us, it should be manageable.

We eat some more of the dinner I made, with her help. (Well, she did the salad. Beautifully though.) We drink a little more wine, but not too much, because we want to remember as much as we can of this anniversary.

And then we put the dishes in the washer, kiss in the kitchen a little, and then return to the living room. I dim the lights a little more, put on some romantic music, and change from color to black & white. (Don’t ask how, trade secret.)

I take her in my arms and we slow dance like we’ve got all the time in the world. Yes, there’s a part of my mind that’s waiting for us to be interrupted, as we so often have been, but that’s no reason not to enjoy this moment.

And then when we’ve had enough dancing, I shut off all the lights and the music, restore the living room to color. Then I take her hand and we go upstairs together, to our bedroom.

I light the fire and she puts on the radio, an instrumental station this time, so the only words will be ours. We take off our shoes and sit on the edge of the bed, toasting our toes by the fire, although it’s an August night and we won’t need much warming up anyway. But it is very romantic.

We kiss, softly and tenderly at first. “I love you, Angela,” I murmur.

“I love you, Tony.”

I stroke her soft, delicate skin, amazed that she only gets more beautiful with age. “You are my summer rose.”

She laughs. “Your what?”

I feel a little embarrassed. “My summer rose.”

“That’s beautiful, Tony.”

“Hey, you bring out the poet in me.”

She smiles. “I know.”

She’s wearing that little black dress she wore when we tried to have an intimate dinner for two, after we declared our love to each other but not yet to the family. I caress her bare shoulders and put my other hand on her bare knee.

She strips off my dinner jacket. She grabs my tie, bringing my head closer for a deeper kiss. Then we start necking, with of course her nuzzling me a lot, and me kissing her delicate ears a lot.

The first few months after we got married, we tended to do everything more quickly. Yes, there was foreplay, but we’d been waiting so long to be with each other without restrictions, that we grabbed every opportunity we had, especially if Mona and Jonathan were both out of the house.

It does feel strange to be so leisurely about this. Not that there isn’t still passion, but it’s relaxed passion.

The fire in the fireplace goes out but we don't really need it. She undoes the buttons on my shirt and then I unzip her dress. She’s wearing a black strapless bra, one I haven’t seen before.

“For our anniversary?”

“Yes.”

“Best gift you’ve given me so far.”

She laughs and then shakes her hair loose from its upsweep. Sometimes I like to undo it, but there’s something to be said for her transforming herself like that. She is still beautiful, classy Angela, but she’s got Ingrid’s wildness and playfulness.

She lays back on the bed and I kiss her, from forehead down to stomach, spending most of that time on the pink rosebuds that are her nipples. She caresses my stomach and chest, then peels the shirt off me.

“Your turn,” she says, so I lay back and she kisses me from forehead to stomach. “I love your love trail,” she murmurs. And then she undoes my belt and takes down my zipper. I wait to see if she’ll keep kissing further down, but you never know with her. She will never stop surprising me.

She continues, after some more teasing. I help her undress me and wait for her to take me into her mouth. But first she straddles me with her own crotch above my face. I love that we’re so close in height! Of all the ways that we fit together, this is one of my favorites.

Her dress is so short, and only half on of course. I tease her with my hands at first, and only on her inner thighs. Angela likes it when I make her a little impatient, as long as we’ve got time, which we have tonight.

And then light light kisses on her thighs, not so light as to tickle, but light enough to tease. And then my fingers start playing with her black lace panties. “The anniversary gifts just get better and better,” I say.

She laughs, carefully. She’s not taking me too deeply yet, mostly just kissing and caressing, with occasional licks. We both love 69, but it is hard to concentrate on either side of it.

I kiss her panties until she squirms in that way that means she wants them off. I make her wait an extra minute, although I have to be careful, because she can definitely tease back. Then I slide the panties off and kiss the Ingridest part of her. She responds by sucking me.

By the time of our honeymoon (Fort Lauderdale, since we never did get to go there alone, and it was off-season), I hadn't been with anyone else for almost two years, and it was even longer in her case, much longer if you don’t count Anthony. And I’d been tested. So we didn’t pack any condoms and I got a whole week of being really inside her. (Yeah, I wanted two weeks, but she couldn’t get away from her business that long. Plus I was due to start at Ridgemont as soon as I could.)

I still haven’t got over it. And there are other ways that barriers are gone. Yeah, it was hot when we were sneaking around, lying to everyone, including ourselves. But I like this better.

Angela does this so lovingly, but also greedily. When I go down on her, I try to make it both adoration and lust, because that’s what it is. This is where she is most my Rose Princess.

I love to kiss her orgasms! Not just the fluid but the motions and the sounds, if that makes sense. She’s not working towards my orgasm. She’s just getting me ready for coming in her center.

She carefully climbs off me, a little woozy from the mind-melting. But then she climbs back on me, so that our centers meet and she slides down and I slide up and in.

There’s no longer that shock of first penetration, as there was for Anthony and Ingrid at the Hidden Hollow Motel seven years ago. But it does still amaze us, that our bodies can do this. Yeah, they’ve done it before, including with other people, but it’s still pretty incredible, you know? Because it was amazing that I found someone I connected to in so many ways, and even when we tried to separate out sex, it was still amazing.

But with it? Oh, damn, it is so good! I don’t even have words for how good it is.

She moves up and down and all around on me, and I lift my head and kiss her pretty tits. “Can’t get enough of you!” she gasps when she comes again. Then she falls off me and onto the bed.

“Good, ‘cause I’ve got lots more to give,” I say. Then I mount her and she gasps again as I tease her where she is most sensitive, especially right now.

And she wraps her legs tight around me, and we cup each other’s tushes and we love Love LOVE each other! Slow, fast, deep, shallow! In circles and straight in and out, again and again!

I want to last all night but she nuzzles my neck and suddenly I’m melting into her. That’s the best part. But second best is knowing that we weren’t interrupted and that we don’t have to worry about what this will mean tomorrow. Or years from now.


	30. The Last Piece

The temperature of the bathwater is just right. I step in and he reaches out for me. I settle into his arms. We have made love in the bathtub a few times since we got married, and we certainly have the time and privacy to now, but his "morning glory" has already visited my "American Beauty rose," as he called it.

This is just about us being intimate without being sexual per se, although I love the feel of his skin against mine. We know each other's bodies pretty well by now, but we still delight in them. For instance, I know where all his muscles are, but I still love to feel them surrounding me.

"Thirty years, Angela," he says, as he caresses my neck and my shoulders.

"Thirty years and a day, Tony."

"Right. Oh, damn, I forgot to give you your present!"

"Uh, what about dinner and everything else?"

"No, this was something special. Something I've never given you before."

"Oh?" If it's something sexual, well, there are some things we haven't done, but that's mostly because one or both of us isn't interested.

"Hey, Ingrid, get your mind out of the gutter!"

"Sorry, Anthony. Is it something you can still give me?"

"Yeah, I left it in the bedroom. I'll go get it."

I'm guessing it's not a puppy. I have no idea what it is. Tony can still surprise me after nine years.

I scoot forward and he squeezes out of the bathtub. I can't help ogling him as he walks away. I know he knows it, because he wiggles his tush a little, making me giggle.

Then a minute later I ogle the front view, but I can't help noticing that he's got something cupped in his hands. "Close your eyes, Angela." I do. "Now hold out your hands." I do, although I'm a little wary. But I trust him implicitly.

The object he hands me is small but heavy. It's smooth on one side and rough on the other. It feels like something has been carved into the rough side.

"Is it a rock?"

"Yeah."

"You've given me a rock." I remember Michael giving me a pet rock when I was pregnant with Jonathan. This ended up being a hint that Michael would not be the most devoted father in the world, although I don't think that was his intention.

"Not just any rock."

I can't help opening my eyes. I look down at the rough, carved side and gasp. "Tony, it's our Rock! I mean our piece of it!"

He grins. "Yeah." He slips into the other end of the tub.

"But how did you get this?"

"Well, you know how they sold off pieces of the Berlin Wall a few years back?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Well, last year Wormser had Kissing Rock destroyed."

"Oh, no! How could he do that to Makeout Rock?"

"Remember, Angela? He said it was a notorious trysting spot. So he thought this would put a stop to it." He shakes his head. "Dr. Bob doesn't know much about teenagers, if he thinks that's gonna stop them."

"But how did you get a piece of the rock?" I almost sing the words.

"Well, uh, I went to the Hidden Hollow Motel on my own. And when I checked out, the manager had a bunch of pieces to sell. Including the one that said 'Anthony.' "

"And you're sure this is you? After all, you said half the guys at the Y Camp were named Anthony."

"It's my carving style."

"Too bad it doesn't say 'Ingrid,' " I say mischievously.

"I like it better like that. This way I can carve, '…loves Ingrid and all the other women who are a part of Angela, the most many-sided Gemini he's ever had the pleasure of kissing.' "

"That's a lot to carve on a little rock."

"I'd use the back."

"Even so."

"Maybe I'll buy a boulder for our fortieth anniversary and carve everything I want to say on that."

"That would be very romantic." I'm not being sarcastic.

"Of course, you managed to say everything you had to say on the back of the watch."

"That wasn't all I had to say. It was just to open a new dialogue."

"Well, it worked, once I figured out what to say back."

"Imagine if we'd been able to communicate from the beginning."

"Which beginning? Thirty years ago or nine?"

"Both."

"We've done OK, Angela. And you know, it doesn't always have to be communication with words."

Two pairs of brown eyes smile at each other. I think of how when we had our first deliberate reunion, seven years ago, I said, "Anthony and Ingrid will at least kiss," and he replied, "They will always at least kiss." And that's true for Tony and Angela, too.

THE END


End file.
